Volition
by Native Guns 13
Summary: They had all come a long way. A war hardened refugee, a would be revolutionary and a fugitive of "Justice" all find their way to San Andreas. Different cities, different lives but they all intertwine. Now they must battle for and against drug addicted control freaks, gangs, pimps, mafiosos, bikers, and their own nature. The road to salvation is narrow but even more long. Rated M.
1. The Intro

_Hey people so here goes my new GTA fic. _

_It isn't that I don't want to finish my other ones I just thought I just wanted to do a San Andreas model as far as what I would have done if I had three protagonists like there will be in GTA V. I'm gonna do my own characters. I'm not so sure about this Michael character being that he snitched and all and I don't blame Trevor for having that mostly ruin their friendship or at least put a strain on it. So yeah i wanted to do my own three and I figure what I'll do is have one person who's a gang banger , one who is like a gang banger but really more like a hit-man who has worked for a couple groups and then I will have one guy who is a ex guerrilla fighter from another country. Of course to be fair one of these protagonists will be a woman. That's one of the few areas Saints Row is better A because there are not only female characters that bang but also NPC female bangers representing gangs._

_That's just progress._

_By the way, to the name meanings of the characters, each are traditional names of each culture that each character comes from. The character Skennen,  
pronounced just as it is spelled, sken-nen) is a name that comes  
from the Mohawk word for peace. (It is spelled the same way in Mohawk but  
pronounced a little more like skunn-nun._

_Kind of ironic for a story like this but I think the word applies much to our people in the sense that we will never have peace till we have justice and we have to fight for that. Literally. Just the way the world sometimes to get peace you gotta fight against the thing that prevents it._

_As for Nilla, that is a African name of Mende (They're an ethnic group in Liberia) ancestry which is a girls name for Glorious. Rory is an Irish or Scottish (Both) name meaning Red King._

_Though Rory is a Caucasian with brown hair there are Irish redheads and you know how many parents don't think of name meanings especially in the US. I think names are important so yeah I used more cultural names than ones that are Western or English or just English__pronunciation of biblical names that shit has been done to death and is redundant._

_OK so here goes nothing..._

* * *

_2012_

_From Sin Fein To Sin Find_

Rory Sullivan was on a boat to San Fierro He had not been here before s but two men who were like his brother now lived here. He had been to Liberty City on a number of occasions since back in the 90's many of the gangs from Dukes and Algonquin would provide safe houses and refuge when the CIA or other intelligence agencies would be too hot on their trails.

Both of these men had been brothers in arms in the struggle. While Rory had no surviving relatives he did consider these two men brothers. There was Jonathan Rourke who like Rory was a member of the Provo IRA. He figured that at this point Ol John was out of that life by now and had probably not been active since the mid to late 90's but even after many of the so called peace talks Rory was still an active member all the way up to 2005.

The other man was a Middle Eastern man named Mohamad Azim. Rumor had it he was now a cab driver for some other FOB in Liberty City but at one time he had been an ally to them, to the IRA, and had been a member of the PLO. He himself had once been a militant.

He had fought as hard against Israel as Rory had fought against the Brits and their Yankee friends in the CIA. While he had once been a devout Muslim and a dedicated fighter as well as a father and husband, from what he had heard in John's letters, he now had so to speak, "Gone native" as far as being in the West.

For one thing he partied and smoked and drank. Not only that but committed adultery on a constant basis. It didn't sound like the Mohammad he had known for most of his life but he had always suspected the Arab fighter had a wild side. He just would have to see it for himself. As Catholics, they had always been okay with drinking and hardly anybody went by the no-sex-until-marriage- rule. To Rory, most religion if not all of it made no sense anyway. He had lost a lot of his faith in God upon seeing friends killed in battle and even sympathizers being murdered by the loyalists.

Even now, he still considered himself IRA and Sein fein forever. Even if the cease fire had happened yet again and the IRA had officially disbanded, he, even at thirty eight years old had not given up on the struggle. After all, he had no wife no children and no job. The struggle was all he had.

Sometimes the cost of being a revolutionary was a lot and one had a hard life. _But at least I know what side I am on even if my brothers have forgotten while they've been living it up out here. _He thought with some bitterness but shook the thought from his head. After all, he would be staying with them. Even if they were no longer fighting in the cause they would always be brothers even if none of them were related by blood or surname.

When the peace talks had happened then he figured there was no reason to stick round in Belfast so he went to Dublin and had gotten involved with a bastardized off shoot of the Provo IRA known as the Real IRA and lived there for three years until he was caught in 2008.

The peace had been bullshit. It wasn't like the UK had finally agreed to get the hell out of their country like they acted like they would. It was just more reform bullshit. That was the way revolutions often died down is that people would negotiate and undermine the movement. Sure, peace was a good thing but without justice there could be no peace. Northern Ireland was Irish country not British yet they still considered it part of the UK. Until that ceased to be true, the war was still not over for Rory.

He spent a few years in some prison in the ass end of the Atlantic but then he managed to break out of prison and fifty two other inmates had taken part in the prison riot that had ended up being a mass jailbreak but most of the fifty two inmates had been killed while trying to escape. He had not.

As Rory looked out at the San Fierro skyline, he recalled the last time he had stayed in America.

Him and a couple of his mates had hid out in the states back in the 90's. A middle man who was a sympathizer of the struggle had put them up with housing. He had actually stayed with a middle class Irish American cop from Broker for a while. Him and a mate in the struggle, Frankie. Things had later gone sour when the man, Tom had learned that he was indeed still trying to smuggle guns and money back overseas to help the struggle.

The British authorities at Interpol had come over even and had tried to get the cop to give him up. Though he did not do that, he did try and arrest him. Him and Sean both. Frankie had succeeded in escaping the squad car as did Rory but Frankie had ended up having to shoot the cop's partner, some Puerto Rican guy, in order to escape. Later, the other cop, who had taken both Rory and Sean into his home, had ended up shooting Frankie while he was trying to escape on a boat back to Ireland.

Rory had escaped and a comrade had flown him back to Belfast. Still, he would never forget the name of the bastard that had betrayed the whole bloody lot of them cause he couldn't keep his feckin nose out of their business. Tom McNamara. While he had always considered him to be a good man, and had helped him out a lot when he first came over back in 97' he was enraged that he had almost lost his life to a pig. That man may have been Irish but to him he wasn't anymore of an Irishman than Thatcher was.

Now they were finally there. He was not the only one getting off the boat. Of course, like many of the people getting off, he was an illegal immigrant. Many of them came from the middle east, from Africa, Asia and Eastern Europe. Not many if any from his neck of the woods. It was night time so he kept walking. Here he was, the land of opportunity. Or so he had been told. He had been here before and had even been given a construction job when he was there and even a visa and a green card while he had been there but all that had gone to shit when that police officer had tried to bust him.

He looked and saw an African immigrant from Uganda was walking off, he could not remember the man's name but they had some conversations on the way there. He spoke English well enough since in his country, much like Ireland, it was the official language. _Bloody fog breathers. _He thought with bitterness. "Okay, my friend. I am on my way to the land of freedom. I hope to see you again, huh?"

Rory sheepishly asked, "Right. What was your name again, mate? I'm sorry I forgot."

The man smiled. He had dark skin, a colorful African shirt resembling a dashiki, and a bright smile that took up most of his face. He also had brown eyes that despite the hope in them, reflected the dark and evil things he had seen in his own country.

"My name is Okello Kamuntu. I know it is not so easy a name to remember. Listen friend, I will be taking the bus. Do you know where you need to be going? It is not safe around here. All though I am told America is great, my brother has told me it is a dangerous city as well. Lots of muggings and kidnappings. You should be careful at night."

Rory nodded. "Don't worry about me. I got some people coming. I appreciate the thought , Okello. Farewell for now I suppose. Maybe our paths will cross again some day?" The black man nodded and waved farewell.

Then he began to walk away from the docks and headed to the nearest street almost as though he knew the place better than Rory did and he lived here. After about five minutes of waiting, he saw a car coming. It looked like some kind of SUV. It pulled to a stop and a middle eastern man as well as a lean Caucasian male got out.

His brothers in arms were finally there and they looked happy to see him. "Rory! How are ya you wee little pip squeak? It's been too long! I've missed ya out here! I never thought us three musketeers would ever be in the same city again. To be honest I figured ya dead for a while there."

Rory admitted, "So did I, Johnny. I really thought I was a dead myself for a while there. But I'm here. Long ways from home but for once it's good to see a familiar face. How are things out here for you two? Mohammad, how are ya broham? I aint seen your narrow arse in years either! I hear you're a cabbie these days. So what's with the fancy ride?"

Mohammad laughed, "My friend, you are still new to America. This maybe better than the piece of shit I was driving before but trust me, there is much better things to drive than this gas guzzler. Yes, I am a cabbie. I am not saying I enjoy it. The hours can be long and my boss is a fat dog lover who thinks he is like me! He does not know a player when he sees one! Well...my old boss that is."

John beckoned toward the vehicle. "Well, I got an apartment out in Sunnyside. Come on, buddy. What's mine is yours. Just like old times. It won't be much but it's a hell of a lot better than some of the places we had to stay back home, eh? Remember that ratty apartment we had in Ulster? My kitchen is bigger than that fucking place!"

Rory got in the vehicle and Mohammad drove. "Somehow I thought you two would still be in Liberty City. What happened to that? That is the city most guys like us end up. Haven for immigrants, yeah?"

John scoffed at that. "They're xenophobic bastards out there, man. I joined a biker club and that's as American as it gets! But they're paranoid. Always on terror alert. Feckin Mohammad got a cavity search at the airport a couple years ago. The police wouldn't let on like they knew anything about us but I think they did. If not them, N.O.O.S.E did. I try to leave the past in the past but even when it's behind ya it's still trying to bite you in the arse!"

They drove by some people protesting outside of a Clucking Bell. They had signs that said **Meat Is Murder **and **Death to All Carnivores.**

As Rory glanced at them he asked, "So who are those people, then? In a cause of their own?"Both Mohammad and John howled with laughter. "Those twats wouldn't know a real struggle if it hit them in the face! That's PITA!"

Rory was confused, "Didn't we eat that with you back in the 90's? Went real good with Hamas, right?" He was referring to Pita bread and when he and his brother from another womb had eaten nothing but that kind of bread and humus.

Mohammad shook his head in contempt. "You said it wrong, bro. That's Pita bread. You are thinking of Humus not dog lovers are Pita., an organization of vegans. People Are Inferior To Animals."

One of them banged on John's window yelling, "Meat is murder!" He pulled out a pistol and pointed it out the window and said, "Fuck off, you Vegan cunt! We're not working there so get out of our way!" They pulled away from the protest and headed down another hill. There seemed to be a lot of them in San Fierro.

"Yeah, they're a bunch of annoying ass munchers. They throw blood on any people wearing a fur coat. But if they're against animal cruelty, where do they get the blood?" Asked Mohammad.

John heckled, "Ah those wankers, if they're so against fur then why don't their mum's shave their snatch? Maybe that's why they're so pissed off, yeah? Fucking rug burn when they're born!" Rory laughed at that. He was glad to be back with the old gang. John asked, "Hey would you mind dropping by that store there? I gotta stop by the ATM."

He did just that and went to make a cash transaction. Rory chuckled, "That's pretty crazy about those vegan protesters Back where I come from, I was happy just to have anything to eat whether it was meat or potatoes or veggies. I didn't care. I was too hungry."

Mohammad laughed at that too. "Yes, these dog lovers say they don't eat meat but I think their women do eat the other kind of meat!" Just then, they heard several motorcycles revving their engines and they pulled to a stop in the parking lot facing John. "Well well well! If it isn't our favorite Dead Beat! A Libertonian at that!"

John started to draw his weapon but the bikers warned, "I wouldn't do that if I were you! We've got more guns than you and you're outnumbered. So listen, up. We're looking for your little Dead Beat butt buddy. Tell us where he is, we'll go plug him and we'll let you live."

Rory and Mohammad got out of the car. "Is there a problem here?" Demanded Rory. He did not have a gun on him as he wished he did but he was still not one to back down. "Stay outta this you FOB asshole. This is between us and this little roll out Dead Beat. Yeah, he says he stopped riding with the Angels when he left Liberty City but I still see him riding with them out here and selling meth for their chapter president."

The biker was a big white male with a scraggly strawberry blonde beard and blue eyes. He had four other bikers with him. One of whom had a shotgun just in case. Rory stepped up and walked up to the biker gang member. "Anything that concerns me brother concerns me, friend. So if you can't be civil, why don't you take those noisy machines on down the road?"

The bikers laughed. "Can you believe the balls on this fucking guy? Nobody fucks with us, kid. Now your 'brother' here can stop being a Dead Beat any time he feels like it. He's already mostly there. Doesn't wear their patches anymore. Doesn't go after us with them. Just makes a little money and kicks taxation up to Salvage Henry but even still, that don't sit right with me. Does that sit right with you, boys?"

The other bikers responded in unison, "No!" Rory still did not back down. "He hadn't told me the exact details of his days as a gang member. Still, I don't think that really gives you the right to harass a man while he's just going about his business. If you got a fight with him, you got a fight with me. Is that understood?"

The biker looked at his smirking friends and then back at Rory. "In the words of our buddies at Burger Shot, You Can Have It How You Want it," With that, he swung a chain at Rory. He hit him in the shoulder and sent him sprawling on the ground. He got up quickly and the lead biker began to swing his chain around menacingly and he circled him with his bike slowly. This got laughter from his fellow biker gang members.

The patch on the back of his vest said Raiders_ MC. _He swung at Rory again but this time he dodged. This got more chatter and laughter from the men. "Look at that, Nelson! This fucker can move!" There were bystanders observing the commotion and at least three teens had whipped out their Whiz wireless phones and were recording it or taking pictures of it. _Fucking generation Z..._Thought Rory as he saw this.

This time, the man tried it one more time but Rory grabbed the chain and caught it and though it hurt like a bitch when he caught it, causing his knuckle to bleed as it banged hard against it, he still got it wrapped around his arm. He gave a hard jerk and pulled the biker off his bike. The man wasn't going very fast at all but he hit the ground and his bike fell over and busted one of the mirrors. Rory pointed to his brothers, "Back in the car! We're getting out of here!"

They did just that, getting back in and he pulled out of the parking lot and out into the street. It felt weird driving on the left side of the road and it would take him some getting used to but he drove them out of there regardless. The biker was angry, his left arm had been scraped against the ground. "That motherfucker broke my mirror, boys! Let's go put this fucker in the ground! Him, the dead beat and the cabbie!"

He lifted his heavy Zombie back up and got on it and then him and his four brothers gave chase after Mohammad's vehicle. Two of the bikers withdrew 9mm's as they rode after the car. One of them began firing after the car and blew holes in the back windshield. "Raiders MC! We run the highways of San Andreas! Fuck you Dead Beat pricks!"

Rory yelled, "John, you got a fucking gun! Why don't you use it! Or toss it over here and I will! These assholes are following us!" John declined saying, "No! Just lose the Raiders and then we can go home! I'm not an Angel anymore, man! Not officially not out here. It isn't the same so I can't go to war with these bastards and even if I do, I aint gonna get Mohammad or you killed over this shite!"

Mohammad shouted to him, "Speak for yourself, Irish, man! I'm one bad ass Arab mudda fucka. i am not afraid to bust caps, homeboy. You feel me? I'm a beast from the mid east. A few redneck bikers do not scare this man!" The Raiders discharged a couple more shots and one went through the back windshield, into the backseat and narrowly missed his arm as it went to the front seat and shattered the window on the front passenger side. He then nearly jumped out of his skin. Rory heckled him, "Aye, tough man! i thought you weren't afraid, boyo?"

Mohammad flipped him off as Rory swerved the car to try to get away from the bikers and the lead they were slinging. "Fuck you, bro! It has been longer since I had people trying to kill me! Maybe you are an adrenaline junkie but I am not, my friend! I remember where I came from just like you but unlike you, I love pussy and peace. Maybe that is why you all are still so bent on fighting. The sheep in Ireland look better than your women!"

John flipped Mohammad shit back at him. "How could you know that, Mo? You can't even see the fucking broads! They got those feckin bee keeper outfits covering their faces, mate! Besides I think you confuse us Irishmen with the Scotts. And as for bestiality jokes, I think you better look at your own countrymen! They invented condoms from goats intestines in the middle east but the Limeys made it just a little bit better by removing the intestine from the goat first!"

This made Rory almost want to laugh but he didn't due to the Raiders shooting at them. "Give me the gun, John! If you don't want to shoot any of these fellas that's fine but i will! I'm not going to die at the hands on some stupid rebels without a cause!"

John still refused. "No can do! Right now, I got my parole officer coming to see me. Making sure I'm staying out of trouble. Away from gangs and guns and such! If he finds out I was involved in a shootout before we have our meeting, I'm getting shipped off to San Quentin! I'll be off parole after this last meeting."

Mohammad scoffed. "What the hell is the point in having a piece if you can't even shoot it? This is self defense, man! What the hell do they expect you to do? Call the police? If somebody tries to hold up my cab i am not going to call the police, I keep a pistol in my cab too and will use it! I prefer peace but if I'm pushed i will start busting caps, my friend. Believe me!"

Rory shot him a funny look, "What the hell is with your Hip Hop way of talking, man? That isn't how you used to be. What happened? America seemed to make you different," Mohammad pointed out, "I lived in Liberty City, man! I had to adapt to the change. I talked with a lot of customers. Liked most of them. Except this one Eastern European asshole. God, he was a head dick! Motherfucker didn't even pay cab fair!"

The bikers kept after him and Rory turned to glare at John and told him, "Okay, you have your meeting with your parole officer and then from then on out, you get a gun you don't fucking hesitate to shoot!" John protested to him, "I'm a felon! I'm not even supposed to have this thing now but there's so many psychos in this city! So many kids born while their parents dropped acid for 9 months!"

Rory swerved around an oncoming Moonbeam and barely missed it and the van honked at him. One biker crashed into the van and went flying off the bike. The biker gang members stopped for him at least two did but the main one was still after them firing rounds through the back of the Calvaclade. Rory took a sharp turn skidding and turned to the left and he peeled out. The biker did not crash but he did go too far past the street and had to take a U turn.

By the time he managed to get onto the street, Rory pulled down another street and they found themselves heading through Chinatown. Rory didn't know this city at all but at the very least they had shaken the bikers. _For now. _He thought to himself. He turned back to his brother and said, "John, what the fuck? Who were those jerk offs?"

He had heard of the Angels Of Death of course and they were a notorious bunch of hoodlums and they had many chapters all over Europe but he had never heard of any gang like the Raiders. "Bunch of idiots trying to make a name for themselves. They've been at war with the Angels forever trying to take out the biggest baddest biker club and they can try but they never come close."

Rory rolled his eyes. "Since when did you become a biker, man? What happened to the both of youse? Geez, here I thought I got a raw deal staying in the struggle all the way up to 2005 even though they arrested me and then i spend years in a British prison, till I break out and barely get to America on a rickety boat. Still at least I didn't forget who I am and get soft. John, you know the brothers back home would never approve."

John snorted. "What do you think happened to the brothers? Either in prison for life, dead or washed up! I didn't want to see us lose that war and we were bound to. We didn't remember what we fight for! So yeah, I got involved with a biker gang. It was tough to make it in America when you don't know anybody! Got a girlfriend, got married, I left the club tried to start my own business and go legit but being legit is pretty hard when you're not only a convict in this country but the last one i was in! I've had a long life in war. I want some peace for once, mate."

_Two Hours Later..._

They had dropped Mohammad off at his own house and now they were back at an apartment. As Rory looked around it he said, "This is a nice place, man! Still, seems kind of small for you to have a wife and a kid right?" He told him, "Aye, i only stay here on the weekends. When I need to get some alone time with my work."

Rory asked his brother. "What kind of work do you do?" John looked at his brother and said, "You'll know all in due time me boy. For now, just consider this your home and whatever is mine is yours. Just like back home. Let's just say, I've got my own things I'm trying to do and they will be legitimate but it will take some time. We haven't seen each other since the 90's, man. A lot happened between then and now."

He then directed him over to his desk top computer and told him, "There's some basic things you're going to need if you're going to survive in America. Money is everything over and probably just as important, technology and communication and all that shite. I've set you up your own email account. Now I've just gotta go to the store. Get you a phone. For now, keep yourself busy. We got TV, all the good cable channels, and internet so enjoy."

He checked his email and so far had only seen that he had two messages, one the email itself saying welcome to the site and one from John. It said, Hey broham. Glad to have you here in America with us. It's been two long. I've missed you. So has our other brother, Mo. Now a lot has changed, he went and got himself a lovely wife yet the wanker cheats on her even though they got six kids. He's been away from his Koran too long and so have I. Maybe you should read the bible now and again, eh? Glad to have you back, Rory.

- John.

Rory took the time to write him back a brief email. Appreciate it, Johnny. It's been too long since we've all been in the same place. Hasn't been that way since the last time the two of youse were in combat with me. In any case, I appreciate you helping me out with housing.

-Rory.

With that, he went on He began looking to see which videos were popular at this time. It had been quite a while since he had been on the internet. In fact it had been the same year it had just came out in 2005 that he had last been on a computer. He clicked on a video where a man named Brucie Kibbutz, who was now the star of a show called Alderney Shore, was sharing his thoughts on the death of Osama Bin Laden. It got many hits.

_"You people are fucking stupid! WAKE THE FUCK UP! Cause every time I fuckin log onto fuckin gay ass Friends Without Faces, I gotta hear some fuckin shit about that dirty towel head cock sucker Osama Bin Laden and how he's fuckin dead! I get the point! I got Weazel news, he's fucking dead, shut the FUCK UP! So I don't wanna hear people going 'Oh did you hear about Osama.' SHUT THE FUCK UP! Okay? Cause first of all..you stupid FUCKS! Osama Bin Laden is a fucking cover up! Okay? This is all to make fuckin Barry Owosu look good because Owosu is nothing but a FUCK UP! Just like Joe Lawton just like everybody in the government an overpaid FUCK UP! Joe Lawton collapsed the fucking towers okay? Do you understand? Osama... Bin... Laden is...a,...FUCKING COVER UP! JESUS CHRIST! You people are fucking so DUMB!"_

Brucie was topless and for some reason had his cell phone in front of the camera and was looking at himself in the mirror while the web came was recording the video. _"Id be more happy if somebody put a fucking bullet in fucking Barry Owosu and fucking Lawton's head because those are the real fuckin criminals in this motherfucking country! I don't fucking care if Osama is fucking dead because it doesn't have anything to do with me IN THE FIRST PLACE!"_

_Rory_ had to laugh at this because he was going from calm to rage and rage to calm so randomly and all the while he was doing this, his stereo had Voices by Disturbed blaring on full blast.

"Also...I_ would like to give a shout out to my man! My man! My Man!" _He pounded on the desk top twice each time he said my man. _"BARRY OWOSU! Bro, I like your birth certificate bro, I can't even do a fuckin photo shop that good! Fuckin_

_faggot...I'm more concerned about why every time I put gas in my FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT Huntley Sort I gotta pay five fuckin dollars a gallon? I got the gas pump shoved so far up my fucking ass ITS COMING OUTTA MY FUCKING MOUTH! I told you bro, the real criminal is Barry OSAMA! That made no sense at all...Barry Owosu! Fucking faggots WAKE THE FUCK UP!"_

He looked to see many of the comments and a lot of people seemed under the impression he was on steroids. It may have been true. He just chuckled. If America was anything like what he had just seen, that and plus the bikers, it was going to be a very strange place...

_So Far From Home_

_**Nilla Dunye sat in a church on 83rd street just off of Ganton Av**__**enue. It was a funeral for their homeboy, Tyson. He was a fallen member of the East Side Locs gang. The preacher and the choic was singing What A Friend We Have in Jesus. Most of the congregation was that of hard working citizens, cornerstones of South Los Santos's black community but there was also gang members in the pews too, come to bid farewell to their fallen homie.**_

**_They were decked out in the Ballin Locs which was purple. Some were just lightly representing while others were wearing full on purple. While Nilla herself was not a gang member her friends including her friend being buried, was a member of the East Side Locs. Their homeboy had been shot several nights ago by the Locs's biggest rivals, the Groves The Ballas also known as Locs which stood for Love Of Criminals, traditionally wore purple while Groves wore green._**

**_He had been shot down by a member of the Attica Park Families,a bitter rival set. With her, was one of her friends who had come to this country with her. His name was Seth Adebesi. The Reverend stopped the song and began to read from the book of John in the bible. The 14th chapter, verse 3 was what he was reading from. "And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am."_**

**_Meanwhile, in the Attica Park neighborhood a young black man of about seventeen years wearing a gray T shirt and long black jeans rode a BMX back to his hood. He had just come from the East Side neighborhood over in Florence. He peddled hard and finally he got to a basketball court where some of his homies were hooping it up. The majority of them were wearing green and a little bit of red here and there. ._**

**_He let the bike as he hopped from it. He was panting and he yelled, "Yo! The Roaches are having a funeral over on East 83rd street!"_**

**_This got the attention of several of the gang bangers who left their game and hopped the fence to go with him. "Serious blood?" The guy nodded. A man wearing khaki pants, a green sweater and a dark red baseball hat walked with him and then said, "Man we're gonna dump on a gang of those fools. Catch em slipping. Some death at a funeral type shit."_**

**_The youth warned, "Nah man I saw five o about a block away from the church you know what I'm saying? I mean we can go over there but we probably shouldn't light em up. They'll hear that shit and book us fo sho."_**

**_An OGF gang member wearing a green bandanna which hung from his right back pocket just said, "__ Let's just mob these niggas. Just give a beat down like the old school G's used to. Old school soo woo shit you feel me?"_**

**_Several other Groves joined the trio on the sidewalk and began discussing it. "Yeah, if we know the pigs is up in their hood that means they're expecting somebody to start busting but if you saw them then the Ball Sacks know they there too so they aint finna shoot either. It's perfect! They're far enough away that we can go in there and bank them niggas but close enough that nobody's about to pull a strap. Then again, if they try to pull a strap they'll be sorry. Man, let's just go dawg!"_**

**_The Grove with the hat nodded. "I'm with it, blood, but just in case," He revealed his Glock 17 and he pulled the slide back and tucked it in his back. "We'll break em off."_**

**_They got into their respective vehicles and began to drive to their rivals hood. Meanwhile back in the church it seemed some of the gang members were actually listening to the sermon the Rev. was giving. Nilla had not been to church in a long time. Her father had been a Muslim and her mother had been Christian and she had been raised with both but both parents agreed it would be up to her which one she would conform to. So she took the third option. Neither._**

**_All though she did sometimes wonder if there was life beyond this one. She had lost a lot of people in her short life of twenty seven years so if there was a better place it would be nice. Just then they heard loud rap music blaring outside. One of the deacons went to the window to look and see what all the nose was. A couple of Voodoos and even a Cavalcade had parked outside._**

**_She then rose from her own seat to see what was going on. She parted the blinds and looked outside. There was a couple of cars full of Groves, rudely blasting music to disrupt the funeral. She instantly worried if there was going to be a drive-by. She looked to an alley on the other side of the street and saw lime green clothes, bandannas, do-rags, hats, shirts and even one pair of red track pants. There was a sea of black faces and just one white one, a guy with a red T shirt on who had red hair and a sun burn and he wore sagging black jeans below his waist._**

**_They were definitive all GSF members. A couple of them smoked spliffs and some had forty ounces of Ole Welsh Malt Liquor. Two Locs, one, a black female with a purple bandanna tied around her forehead like a sweat band in a basketball game, and the other, a black man, with dread locks in a blue clad New Lormont Angels basketball jersey, looked out the window too._**

**_Upon seeing the enemies outside he was angered. Other Ballas came to the window and saw this. That was it for them. They began to head outside for a confrontation. The preacher begged them, "Brothers! Brothers...please don't go out there. You've gotta be the bigger men..."_**

**_It was no use. The male and female bangers were already out the door. Nilla and Seth followed since they had lost their homie too. They didn't rep the gang but they may as well have. They rushed outside and now the Groves were ready and advanced toward them getting out of their cars. "The fuck you wanna do, lobster ass niggas? Fuck your flurple rags!"_**

**_One of the Groves chucked a half empty forty at the Locs which shattered on the sidewalk near one of the Locs. Nilla did not see if it had hit or injured anybody upon shattering. It really didn't matter. It was on. The two opposing gangs rushed each other and in retaliation for the thrown bottle, the guy with the dreads picked up full trash can off the sidewalk and rushed at his enemies to either hit or throw at somebody._**

**_They began punching, kicking, and clawing at each other, body slamming and grappling. Those that still had 40's used them as weapons as well and the guy with the trashcan had held onto it and though he had hit a Grove in the face with it and knocked him down, and emptied the trash all over him he continued swinging it at other OGF bangers ._**

**_The redhead, and a black male in a wine red baseball cap double teamed Seth but he fought back. It was chaos. It was war._**

**_She soon found herself in the midst of the fight exchanging blows with a male Grove Streeter who looked to be about twenty or so. She was no soft touch and she always gave as good as she got. As she threw punches at the man she could tell he was surprised by her skills as a brawler. It had not been the first time she had been in a scrap and would certainly not be her last._**

_Four Months Earlier..._

She had never been to Los Santos herself before but this was her fathers hometown. Nilla was an African woman standing at five foot four. Her mother was Liberian just like herself and her father was African American, born here in Los Santos. He had been a gang member for much of his life but he converted to Islam in prison after reading of such people as Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X and Patrice Lumumba. Before that time he had been a veteran member of the Locs, the oldest black gang in Los Santos.

He had gone to Africa in a hunger for knowledge, a thirst of the Mother Land, something he had been denied his whole life living in the urban wilderness of North America. Something he had read about in books and seen in movies but had never experienced. He knew there was third world poverty there in a land that had once been a paradise. He had picked out Liberia on the map for historical significance.

It was a country that had been founded in Africa as a colony for freed American slaves in the 1800's. He saw his gang affiliation his life of "Sin" his bad behavior as something that had been created by a lack of knowledge. Of self. So he joined a humanitarian group out there. He had often been vexed that his own countrymen black like him had shown no interest whatsoever in Mother Africa.

True, it was poor but the failure of his brothers and sisters to see that it had not always been that way, was a reflection of the lack of knowledge of self they had back there. So he had moved to Liberia and in his work as a humanitarian he had met his mother and they began seeing each other. They later fell in love and married. In 1986 they had Nilla. Just two years after he had left his gang banging ways behind in Los Santos.

Later in life in 1999, though life had been good for Nilla getting the rich education of stories of her father about black heroes in American history and her mothers tribal history, she was rich not in a traditional wealth sense but in a human sense. That was until civil war broke out in the country. There was already some involvement in the civil war going on at the same time in Sierra Leone, their neighbor country which was divided between the RUF, a terrorist group calling themselves revolutionaries and the government in Freetown. They used Liberia as a source of exporting conflict blood diamonds to finance the civil war.

Their president, Charles Taylor, was descended from the Americo Liberians who had pure intentions in the past but in those years, the Americo Liberians oppressed Liberian tribes that had always been there. It was sad because the freed slaves who had founded the country as it was wanted to get in touch with their African roots.

The war in Liberia raged and the Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy or LURD, fought against the government. At first, her parents wanted to keep her out of that war and they lived in a refugee camp in Nigeria for a time. There she met a young and wild rebellious boy of the Yoruba tribe named Seth and befriended him. Later they returned to their homeland as they had heard that the war was nearly over.

This had been a mistake. One day, Nilla's mother had been raped by some soldiers in the government who accused her father of being a terrorist sympathizer, which Nilla had no idea how this rumor had been started. She retrieved her fathers gun and opened fire on the soldiers killing every last one of them. Her father had taught her how to shoot after all. When this happened they had to flee or Nilla would have been arrested and likely executed by Taylor's men.

She and her mother became part of the infamous Liberian Female Rebel soldiers. She had been just fourteen the first time she had shot anybody. Her father, though he had not wanted to be involved in any conflicts there, joined his daughter and wife and fought for the LURD faction. However, the war would end in 2003 but by that time Nilla was war hardened despite her youth. She was seventeen years old and had more blood on her hands than most American soldiers probably did and that was saying a lot but doing what she had was justified.

Still, her parents feared she had been dehumanized by the war as they had seen how much she enjoyed slaying government soldiers along with her rebel companions. They moved back to America when they saw that she could not adjust to the post war country. They wanted her to not forget all that was good in life.

Her father had reluctantly said, "We need to take her back to America. As much as I don't want to go back there, we have better schools. She can learn things there she can't here. She doesn't have a record like me. But just like me, she can come back here one day and use what she learned to make this country a better place."

They moved to Vice City, Florida that same year. She had been angry that she had to go to school. She had gone to school a lot as a child but not as much in her teen years. Both the war and the lack of schools over there had kept her from going and even if she could have gone she had not wanted to.

She still barely managed to pass high school. In 2004, twenty years after the last time he had been in L.S., her father wanted to go to L.S. to see some of his family and to see if he could help out some of the youth back there. Her mother worked at a nursing home for shitty wages and her father had to work at a Burger Shot for minimum wage. He had been a doctor in many ways when he had helped out people in Africa with all the medical aid he provided to people there.

It didn't matter what he had done back there though. He was nobody in America. He was no different than an African immigrant just like Nilla or her mother and the fact that he had a felony on his record made him lucky to even get that job.

When he had boarded his flight at Escobar International she had been mad that he had to leave once again as he had for the period of time she had to live in the refugee camp. However if she had known what would happen that week she would have hugged her daddy tight, cried, and begged him to not leave. Under circumstances she was still not sure of, her father was murdered on December 20th, 2004. Shot in broad day light on the same streets he had once grown up in on the East Side of South Central.

Her mother had been in such deep grief from this that she wanted to buy a ticket and fly back to Monrovia but there was only enough money for one ticket and not much else Nilla had begged her to not go and asked that she at least wait until she could make enough money to go with her. She had heard from former class mates in High School that the man to see about making money was Tommy Vercetti.

Her mother learned of this and told her, "I understand life has been hard dear, but try to remember the good in this world and try to do good in this world. You and I have both had to do ugly hings to survive back home but we made it to the land of the opportunity. You can do what he did if you get a better education and you have no record so you can do it better. You can return to Liberia and build schools, hospitals wells, things we need back home."

She then assured her with a smile, "My life is here now but one day you and I will return to Africa and we will look back on the hard years of our life and everything that we had to go through will have paid off."

She later found herself running errands for the man who in less than a year in the same year she was born, took over the city one business at a time. In 2005 her mother died of a stroke. She had been in such grief from losing both parents in that short amount of time that she took out her anger the same way she had back home. Through gun play.

The one relief she found was that her friend, Seth Adebesi came over from Nigeria and soon found employment of his own under the wing of Tommy Vercetti. She worked for Vercetti three years and in a way, though he had a son and a daughter of his own, had been like a secondary father to her. In 2008, Tommy had been gunned down himself at the age of sixty seven years old. He had run the city for twenty two years.

This left a vacuum of power in the city and all the gangs that had been under Vercetti's payroll as well as those that had been against him, battled for control of the city. Now it was 2012, a new year and she was in Los Santos. She wanted to go to Los Santos to pay respects to her father. She had even heard a few rumors that he was not dead at all. She wanted to find out herself.

Nilla Dunye was now twenty six years old. She was tired of gun play She wanted out of the game but she didn't know how likely that was. She had decided to pack her things and leave and go to Los Santos. Granted, she didn't have much but a little bit of money and the clothes on her back but at the same time, she had nothing left in Vice City either.

She had lost her mother, her father, and even Tommy. She had Seth with her and he had decided that Vice City without Tommy was a bit too crazy for him as well. It was changing too fast for him. They went to Los Santos where he was told that one of Tommy Vercetti's employees, a local to Vice City who had risen to be one of his biggest lieutenants, had gone to the west coast back in 1993 and had started setting up drug empires of his own much like Vercetti had in Vice City. His name was Micheal Wilcox but on the streets of Vice City as well as in L.S. he was known as Top Dollar.

Now, here she was in a cab with Seth observing the sights of Las Venturas as they drove down Utopia Boulevard. A completely different city than the one she was meant to go to but all the same, still San Andreas.

"So are you sure you can trust this man? She asked him. Seth just grinned his teeth huge and white against his very dark skin. He was a large black man six foot six in height and he had muscles on top of his muscles. He had dark eyes that could be friendly and warm at times and piercing and menacing in other times.

Though he, just like Nilla, was an African immigrant he had more easily blended into American culture, in particular, that of African American urban culture. The streets. He wore a black tank top that seemed too small for him or at least very tight and he wore gray camouflage pants plus a tiny hat that hung off of his bald head. "You worry too much, little sister," He told her.

His speech pattern was one she was constantly adjusting to. Though they both had the accents of their homelands, his language was a blend. In Vice City for the three years they'd lived there, he, like her had interacted with all kinds of people due to Tommy's connections. Meth heads, rednecks, bikers, gang bangers, would be Mob peons, yuppies and other immigrants like themselves.

His own slang seemed to be a blend of black Hip Hop slang that he had learned from hustlers in downtown Vice, plus Jamaican gangs, and other gangs from the Caribbean plus the way he had spoken back in Nigeria, made him a walking talking book of Patois so to speak. Yet even though he spoke in words of many ways of life, she still actually had mastered the English language better than he had.

"I have it all under control. This guy worked for Tommy back in the day. Was a major hitter for him in the 80's and part of the 90's. In other words, Tommy made him who he is. I have already talked to him and he said he had work for both of us."

Nilla crossed her arms. "Let me guess. Top Dollar?" He chuckled. "Ya. That's him, little sister. Da East Coast is all about monopolies and one man running a city. It's never the mayor. He figured there's not really anybody doing that on the west coast so he'd try to play for power. Out here, it isn't one guy running things. It's rivals trying to take out competition, seen?"

She didn't like the idea. "So you're saying he's trying to take over the whole state because that's what somebody back in Vice would have done? What gives him the right to do that? The man used to be trailer trash if you didn't remember? One of the few surviving gang members in the same gang Marty J Williams was in."

Seth did not know who she was talking about. "Who is that? I have never heard of that name," She explained, "Guess you don't know the city's history much then? Before Vercetti took over there was a play for power from gangs all over the city. Marty J Williams was a major business man despite being dumb as shit. When the Vance Crime Family took over he was one of the first people they took out and they took all his empires. When Tommy took over there was hardly left of the Trailer Park Mafia."

She then added, "But Top Dollar was one of the few who did live. He got recruited as muscle by Tommy as soon as he did start to make moves and take over the city. You and I have never met the man. He only worked for Tommy for seven years and then he left. What makes you think we can trust him?"

Seth beamed, "Money talks, Nilla. No matter what. If nobody else had da initiative to take over the state that is their problem. He's an entrepreneur . Maybe five years from now we sit at the top just like him! If he can go from being a trailer trash nobody to being an eccentric millionaire just like Tommy, then why not fuck with him?"

She reminded him, "The last time we got involved with a drug lord and his empires in the city, we almost got killed. On more than one occasion! Do you have amnesia? It's only been five years. Think how many times you got shot at by people! Those Haitians that tried to kill you many times?"

He thought quickly and said, "Four times. Almost did the last two times. They don't go down easily I give them that. But neither do I! I grew up in poverty my whole life. The slums. Slums in Africa make slums in America look like a penthouse. I want what Top Dollar has. He aint got no partner yet but he's got a few rude boys up close to his level. He's like a younger Tommy ya know? He learned everything he knows off him. An' Tommy would work wit just about anybody that got aboard but cross him? You die."

Nilla rolled her eyes. "Yes and then he died don't you remember? Or were you too busy sniffing that shit up your nose?"

Seth brushed her comment off. "Hey, da man was old in a young boi's game ya know? It was unfortunate but it happens right? Besides, Top Dollar is still alive. I met him a few times too when he'd come back east on vacation with his sister. They were homies. Tommy was glad one of his own made it after paying his dues!"

They pulled up to the hotel Top Dollar was staying at. It was up in the Kardashian Hotel. Top of the line luxuries. They paid the cab fair and got out. As they did, Adnebesi looked at Nilla and said, "You sure you wanna do this, sister? If not you don't have to. Nobody is saying you gotta stay in the game but you N' me are both fobs. What else are we gonna do?"

She took a breath. _Fobs..._she'd heard this term a lot. It stood for Fresh Off The Boat. A term for immigrants. It seemed it didn't really matter how long the two of them had lived in the United States or how long they would continue to. They would always be known by that term.

This was even also why she did not know how Adnebesi got along so well with African Americans who from what she saw, aside from men like her dad, still regarded them as fobs so even their own brethren of African descent gave them no refuge, no sense of solidarity. She was pretty sure there was a time this would not have been so, maybe in the 60's or the 70's but somewhere along the way, people disconnected. It was really sad.

In many ways, America was better than Africa but in other ways it was not at all. For all it's faults and injustices, at least Africa, and the people living there could see the world for what it was. They lived in reality which was harsh but still reality. Here was another story. It seemed that even though this was considered a place for women like herself to get educated, in many ways Americans were very uneducated. Sure, they had better schools but often their history books were told with half truths and romanticized bullshit.

Plus what they were educated in as far as the things they could learn at their wonderful schools, they were also highly uneducated as to the feelings and realities of the rest of the world and how a lot of why much of the world was dirt poor was because of people from their country. Sure, most Yanks were not in the CIA sending drones on people but was it moral for them to cheer on people who did?It seemed to her that a country with more resources to be educated should have less illusions rather than more.

After all, in the so called age of information, wasn't ignorance a choice at this point? She exhaled. "Okay," She said, "Let's see what he has to say."

As they reached the floor after taking the elevator they knocked and when they were let in by one of Top Dollar's guards, a skinny black male with wire rimmed glasses and a black hat, they saw Top Dollar in a back room. He was a Caucasian male of about five foot ten. He had cold brown eyes, a cruel sneering demeanor and long brown hair. He wore black slacks and black dress shoes as well as a fancy white shirt under a black vest.

As much as she never thought it possible, he actually did look like a redneck yuppie. Maybe he did not look like a redneck per say but i was perhaps she knew that deep down he was once in the Trailer Park Mafia and she wondered just how much had changed about that and what had stayed after all these years.

Next to him was a pretty yet unsettling Asian woman with somewhat messy black hair. She wore black leather pants, and a low cut black top that revealed her cleave and showed just the slightest bit of skin revealing her toned stomach showing a hint of her belly. She was smoking a cigarette.

He was playing pool with a couple of bodyguards. "So I take it you two must be Tommy's old guns, right? Seth and...what's your name, doll?" Nilla just told him, "Nilla. Dunye," Her nodded as he took a puff off the cigarette of his own. "Well I must say you're lovely. If I do say so myself,"

The Asian woman leered at her in way that made her uncomfortable. "I love her eyes," She droned, "Pretty..." Top Dollar laughed and said, "Not now, babe. So, I heard the unfortunate news of Tommy's untimely demise. So how did the old dog go out?"

Nilla answered, "He was gunned down in his own mansion. It was all over the news. Nobody knows who even did it. Some say the Colombians or the Haitians. Others say the police. I don't know, I've wondered that myself. Been wanting to find the bastard who killed him."

Top Dollar nodded, "Well in that case we all ought to have a moment of silence for poor ol' Tommy," He then crudely did something that seemed odd given what he had just said and he snorted a rail of blow off the table. Nilla found this disturbing. "So...you two looking for some work I take it?"

Seth nodded. "Yes. We are looking to make money any way we can," The drug lord sniffed and then said, "All right then. Just so happens a couple positions opened up. Insubordination and replacement, that sort of thing. We'll start you two off with something easy since you're outta towners. This city can be a rough place if you get lost,"

_The Lonely Warrior_

Skennen Alvarez was eager for the car ride to be over. It was not exactly easy to be tucked up in a trunk in the way that he was. He was being smuggled back across the border by a coyote who happened to be his friend, a man constantly traveling between Tijuana and Los Santos. He was six foot one so the trunk was cramped up and his knees were sore. They pulled to a stop and the coyote, Indio got out of the car. He popped the trunk and let him out. "Bueno, el hombre que estamos aquí! Bienvenidos al norte."

(Okay, man we're here! Welcome to the north. )

Skennen got out of the trunk. "¿Y ahora qué? Tengo la oportunidad de ir delante?" **(So what now? I get to ride up front?)**

The coyote nodded. "Si mon. Hey we should get used to speaking in English, amigo. Not saying we can't speak Espnaol but in America these gringos tend to trip if you don't. Fucking gabachos. Come here from Europe with their small pox, alcohol crosses and TB and call us immigrants?"

He then added, "We're in San Dios, homie. We can be in Los Santos in a couple of hours, entiendes?"

It was true. Though Skennen was half Mexican he was by no means an illegal and he didn't see most of his fellow Chicanos as such. He was born to a Mexican American mother and a Mohawk father. To be more exact, the true name was the Kanienkehaka people. This made him a full blooded Indian but of two tribes. He had been born in Liberty City and raided there. He'd grown up with his mother, Marcella, and had lived in the barrio of Broker.

Though his father had lived there too as there was a prominent community of Kanienkehakas in Broker, as they were indigenous to the city, he had only known him from age nine to age twelve and he had always been a dead beat alcoholic, a woman beating drunk who knew almost nothing about his own heritage. He had been lazy and always lived with and leeched off every woman he'd ever been with. He was not your typical Mohawk. He hated women, something else that had contradicted his Iroquois roots.

When he would get drunk and violent it would not take much. Just half a beer would leave him cock eyed and crazy. According to his mother, one time, instead of being violent when shit faced, his father thought it would have been fun to urinate on him as a baby. Marcella had put a stop to this. Sometimes he would be violent drunk and other times too drunk to even stand straight. She had beat the shit out of him that day for it when he happened to be sloppy drunk.

He wasn't surprised when hearing of his father what an asshole he had been. He had even gotten into a fist fight with his own brother, also deceased and had pistol whipped him, contemplating shooting him but decided to just club him with it. He had a history of violence.

It stemmed from the fact that his father, Skennen's grandfather, had been the same way. An abusive alcoholic drunk and had beaten his mother and him and he resented her for not leaving him or protecting him. That was the difference between Skennen's mother and his grandmother. Marcella had at least fought back when he would hit her. Skennen was ashamed of this fact, that he never had a father to give a shit. There had been plenty of new boyfriends but none could be the real thing to him.

Despite his father being a shitty role model and poor excuse for a man, Skennen took pride in both his Kanienkehaka heritage and his Mayan heritage from his mom. He even talked like a cholo though his mother had never wanted him involved with gang life. When Skennen was sixteen, his father, he had heard, had been gunned down in a botched deal. The fucking asshole had once been a smack head himself as well as a drunk and had been a career criminal, was still trying to sling. Though he quit drinking eventually by the time Skennen knew him and quit using drugs he was still trouble, still violent. He was a sociopath.

He never wanted revenge for his father. Though both his father had been a fuck up as well as his grandfather were grade A fuck ups his great grandfather, from what he had heard, had been a proud and traditional Kanienkehaka. He had been one of the many Mohawk Indians to build the Algonquin skyscrapers that were in Liberty City to this day. They had built the Rotterdam Tower and even Star Junction as it was today. Even the Love Media Towers that had been destroyed in 9/11.

His great grandfather who he had never met did not drink. He was a hard worker and had respected women. Skennen hoped to live up to his example. To break the cycle of fuck ups from the males in his families.

He didn't know who did it either. All that he would do is shake the persons hand. Here, Skennen was twenty one years old. He had lived in Mexico the last few years because in Broker, he had fallen in with the wrong crowd. With no male role model to give him guidance, at least not at first, he took after gang members of Mexican, Puerto Rican and Dominican descent.

He had joined the Lords when he was fifteen and had been part of that life. He had somewhat admired Manny Escuela, a Rican from Bohan even if he was an attention whore and a bit of a mayatero for a Midwest based gang that had stood up for La Raza.

He'd still had good intentions for wanting to help the hood out and though he wads mostly Bohan based, he would be in Broker all the time too. They'd had beef with the MOB crew from the Firefly Projects. They'd had more than one shootout with them in the ghetto. More like a dozen.

When he had been in a fist fight with one of them, and had been stabbed by one of them, though he'd been stitched up by his homeboys, his mother insisted that they move to Mexico. "You're starting to fall in with a bad crowd. We're going to where I grew up. Mira, it's better to be honest and poor than corrupt and rich."

They'd also had no choice. He'd been wanted for a couple of 187's on an MOB gang member. So fleeing to Mexico was his, was their, only option. They would not extradite him there.

However, when in Mexico, while he had tried to cope, and could speak Spanish fluently due to his mother along with Nahuatl and the Maya language and even a tiny bit of Kanienkehaka from his own initiative to learn on his own, he found the jobs there hard and it was not easy because the hours were long and the pay was shit. Finally, he got back into the life of crime and had moved out of his mothers place.

She had insisted on it so that if he had enemies they would not come to her house and kill her. "You are a grown man, mijo," She had told him. "I can't stop you from making what choices you do, I tried to raise you as best as I could but you are headed down a bad path and I won't have it in my home. I hope one day you realize what i told you about drugs and gangs before it is too late."

After he had moved away, he'd still kept in touch but he never moved back. Never the same city or neighborhood. We got involved with the Tijuana cartel and for a year and a half worked for them. One day,however, they had tried to kill him and he barely escaped with his life. He had been shot and left for dead by them and he almost died until some people had rescued him.

Those people were the Zapatistas of Mexico. They were a revolutionary Indigenous group that had been around since the Mexican civil war and even though the war itself had ended, their struggle , resilience and determination had not. They had nursed him back to health and had told him that while he had worked for the cartel, all the stuff he had done for them had been serving the enemies of Indigenous people. The cartels , though it had many Mexican Indians in it, was ran by Spaniards who had lived in Mexico for years off the fat of the land.

White Spaniards in Mexico, rarely, if ever needed to leave the country for America. Why should they when they could live fat off the hog in a land they themselves had stolen by committing crimes? But the Zapatistas knew what they were all about. Over time, after learning about the people's struggle, they trusted him enough to let him help them. The Indigenous people were fighting the cartel and the police. The police and federales were pretty much in the Cartels pocket and the cartels were backed by the CIA.

Once he had known that, he had fought hard for La Causa or the cause. He'd killed many men that were involved in exploiting the people of the land all over Mexico. Eventually however, over time, a Cartel leader named Lupe Garcia, gave him an ultimatum. To leave the country or they would find his mother and kill her. When this happened he had to use the money he had saved up to get smuggled back to the US.

If Lupe Garcia wanted somebody dead, they would be but he was also a man of his word and that reputation of him had been known for a long time. So he left Mexico.

Though he himself was a citizen, he was illegal in the sense that he was wanted by the cops in Liberty. Surely word had gotten around as to who he was while he was gone as he was a fugitive on the run. He did not consider any of the many many Mexicans with him to be illegal aliens either. He knew the Indigenous history of the continent and knew that when it came to native Mexican people they did not cross the border, the border had crossed them! Even the city they were headed to, San Dios, was the original land of a tribe that was on both sides of the border, the Kumeyaay people.

No matter what false terms "Americans" called them, illegal, Hispanic, Latino, they knew the truth as to who they were. There had been plenty of Chicanos who had never lived on the other side of the border and had always been part of the state of San Andreas before the US even existed, before the Spanish came with their horses and before the first pilgrims landed on the shore.

So now, here he was just on the other side of the border. Riding shotgun with a coyote who actually was a sympathizer to the cause and had helped others get across because despite what the US government had to say about them being illegal and the time a smuggler could get in prison they knew it was their land and no pale skinned Gabacho would ever tell the likes of Indio, what to do.

Indio pointed out, "Listen i'm gonna go an extra mile for you. You speak English better than most of the gente we run across la frontera. If i can find them jobs I can for you too but unlike them, you actually are a criminal according to the states. So...I'll just have to find you work with some of my people back in L.S. It aint legit but I know what you're capable of."

Skennen thought about it and then said, "Well, I wouldn't mind a legit job so if you can help me with that I'd appreciate it but I'll do whatever you need to survive. I know a lot of coyotes give coyotes a bad name but you've been pretty straight forward with me."

Indio nodded. "I've got your back, carnal. I know what it's like having the law on your ass. I try to help as many people out as I can. Anyway, once we get to Los Santos, I got a place for you to live in, all right? I'll get you all the stuff you'll need. A cell phone, email, internet access, you name it. But if you are starting fresh up here in the states you gotta have a new email address. The FIB are all over the internet."

Skennen looked at the traffic as they drove down the freeway. He asked, "What people are you gonna connect me with? I just wondered what I should expect."

Indio told him, "Sólo algunas personas con las que crecí. Son un poco loco pero puedo depender de ellos. Voy a tratar de hacer lo que pueda, ¿sabes? Sé que no tiene mucho dinero a su nombre, pero yo te ayudaré,"** (Just some people I grew up with. They're a bit crazy but I can depend on them. I'll try to do what I can, you know? I know you don't have much money to your name but I will help you. )**

Skennen looked at him and asked, "Por que?" **(Why?) **The coyote explained, "I knew your mother, man. She's actually the one who called me. When I was growing up, I was starving on the streets of TJ. Yu madre, she didn't have much but she still bought me a small meal to eat. I never forgot that. This was when I was just a peewee but I always remembered that. I decided I'd help people like her one day."

Skennen was shocked. "I didn't know that at all I guess life on the streets is hard anywhere but you're right it's much harder in Mexico. It's been three years since I've even spoke English this much as I am now. My Ista wanted me to start over when she first brought me down there but ever since, I've been getting in trouble there too. Maybe this time, I can finally put a smile on her face?"

* * *

_Oye pendejos! So that's the first chapter. I'm doing the three character thing just like GTA IV but in the way i would have liked to have seen it (Seriously how are you gonna do another L.A. based game and not have the option of playing as a cholo? The Surenos are older than the B's or c's so that's bullshit! Then again maybe they will if they have DLC add ons like a TBOGT for GTA V? I'd like that)_

_Now onto the explanation. Kanienkehaka is the true name for the Mohawk tribe, my that BS you heard about the hairstyle too that aint our thing yeah some warriors did have the hair but there was never any one style we had for our hair! In any case it pisses me off when i see non natives with them. That'd be like me with blonde hair or an Afro que no?_

_But yeah so that shit with Brucie and the Alderney Shore, look IDK if it was me or Zane or Stelm or whoever that came up with that but I know I did think of it and whoever the other author is i saw use it must have too. Not saying either one is using it off somebody else. But that whole rant with Brucie, that was a reference to this video that was on you tube where this man named Mike B, if you wanna look at who he is just google tosh.0 Steroids guy. He maybe Italian and Brucie was Hebrew but still tell me that aint him if he was jacked off steroids!_

_Also Bary Owosu is a spoof of Obama, I'll be ripping on him as much as Joe Lawton (Bush) As for the early history of the Liberian country it's basically the history of that country from the 1800's on. Same for the civil war that went on there. Also that scene with the Damu vs Locs funeral, that is from this movie on youtube called Dead Homiez. I made the Locs/Ballas the stand in for the Crips whch if MOB is Money Over Bitches (In Blood terms, Memeber Of Bloods also) in this it would be Love Of Criminals. Criminals being the replica of the crips/Hoover. I know that the crips/hoovers had a divide but the Hoover Criminal gang with the orange flags were originally crips just like trying to say a Piru and Blood are different the only difference is Pirus wear burgundy and bloods wear bright red. But in this since it's green they wear that since GSF is clearly based on Pirus. My mistake but a little late to change it in Cross Fire so fuck iy._

_Oh and also, the Rotterdam Tower if you didn't know was the Empire State Building, the Star Junction is Times Square and Love Media is a reference to the deleted GTA III mission (OK One reference lol) called Love Hurts in which Claude crashes a Dodo into the Love Media Towers so I had them stand in as the Twin Towers which our people also built. All the fore mentioned above was made by our tribe not bragging just kicking historical knowledge. We were the only ethnic group not afraid of being that high up because back in the day we used to make homes from trees in the Eastern Woodlands which required getting high up._

_Some of the brothers were so fearless they even would hop from one scaffold to another they were so fearless of the heights. Even after they tore down the woods and put us on reservations or the city, our blood doesn't forget!_

_The Matones will appear in this as well and so will the Truchas but not the Vagos i will replicate 18th Street in a different name. Though i did reference Vice City, and used GTA IIII canon, i will not be using the III canon for SA. The reason being there is no HD era for VC as of yet and that city has been used twice. We can assume they're done with Vice City, where as L.S. they rebooted so I will just focus on basing gangs and street names after actual L.A. history rather than reference GTA III era characters or gangs from the SA game. Venturas will remain mostly the same but instead of the Leone, or the Forellis we'll have the Five Families based on the real life NY Mafia. So Gambetti, Ancelotti, Pavano etc._

_Oh also Sunnyside is the unmentioned name for what is the actual Sunset district in San Fransisco which was called Sunnyside in SA kind of near Ocean Flats, SF. The Raiders are based on the Mongols MC. The Sinn Fein is the organization associated with the IRA. As for Mohammad i thought he was interesting and decided to make a minor IV era character a major one in this._

_If I had to say who Nilla is based on visually it would be Rutina Wesley (She's pretty) from True Blood. Rory, Cillian Murphy and I'm somewhat basing him off of his character in The Wind That Shakes The Barley. Skennen, though somewhat based on me and a lot of his back story is based on myself, is visually based on Gary Paul Davis who is a rapper and actor of Cherokee and Mexican heritage making him a full blood of two tribes._

_Oh also, Indio (Spanish for Indian) is an Azteca himself and a coyote who will be the Roman to the Niko that Skennen is. He will be visually inspired by Emilio Rivera. If you want the name meanings see the writing at the start of the chapter._

_Also Pita People Are Inferior To Animals is a spoof of PETA. They will be in future chapters. So that's all for the intro chapters the next chapters will be more exciting._

_Oh and Ista is Kanienkehaka for mother spelled with a T but it's used like a D._

_Later._

_N.G. 13_


	2. Into The West

_So I decided to get this updated ASAP. It's been a minute but I am getting right back on it! So enough intro crap lets get to it here goes chapter two of Volition. Basically this time we're starting off Nilla in Venturas and we'll do her view first this time it will vary chapter to chapter. So we got her starting off in Venturas doing a job for Top Dollar. OK here goes!_

* * *

_Nilla_

_Temple Of Thieves And Robbers._

She asked the drug kingpin what it was he wanted done. "I got one of my couriers who just needs a ride to his local spot. That's all. Simple task. You bring muscles here in case you need any back up. I doubt anything will end up happening though. I'll be informing our friend to be please be courteous to the help plus I'll see to it you're paid as soon as he gets from point a to point b. Got it?"

She nodded. "I believe I understand. Consider it done," They exchanged contact information since Seth was the one who had suggested working for him. "I'll be in touch as to where our mutual friend is," With that they walked out of the room and took the elevator back down. "See? That wasn't so bad now was it? Like peeling off a band aid!" Seth beamed.

As they went downstairs, Nilla asked, "Okay, but how will we give this man a ride when we do not have our own transportation?" Seth closed his eyes and laughed at the foolish question. "The same way we would have back in Vice City."

She rolled her eyes and they found a silver Willard. She asked him, "Do you have a Slim Jim or a coat hanger?" He laughed and just busted the window with his elbow. He cut it on it and most would have been in severe pain but he did not seem to care about the blood running down his arm. "You drive, huh? I got the glass in my elbow now you should get it in your ass."

She hot wired it as fast as she could. The alarm briefly went off but she wired it to turn off and then just thew wipers went on. She turned the engine to life and soon they were were driving up the street. "A bit ghetto we have to steal a car when we're supposedly working for a big shot don't you think? Why couldn't he just give us the keys to one of the many vehicles he probably has?"

Seth answered her, "Because we're new in town and we have to earn that. We have to prove we can be trusted. You wouldn't want some bumbaclot working for you if they couldn't even break into a car would ya? I know I wouldn't. Anyway, Nilla, this is a hustler city. Perfect for a guy like me, huh? If ya aint on da strip trying da slots or da poker tables you be on da corner slinging white girl. Even for da mudda fuckas that don't make it on the strip they still have that natural born instinct to grind, seen? The world runs on money, Nilla. Specially in this town."

She rolled her eyes at how sometimes it seemed he had become so Americanized. She understood learning the language and being able to function on a social level but she hated how many refugees just forgot who they were and their very language and attitude became different. He had become so immersed in Hip Hop slang that he even used the word 'nigga' on a regular basis when surrounded by American blacks. To her way of thinking though she was no American by birth her father had been born in the states and while he had been a member of the Locs that was one thing but when he found Islam and had gone to Africa he never used it again.

When it came to African immigrants like them there were often two different types. There were the types that were friendly to all kinds of Americans including their black counterparts but still were mainly around and living with their country men. Then there was the type of Africans that were desperate to put the mother land behind them. They did what Seth often did throwing out their old morals. Even in sports played she could tell a difference. African kids often still played football which strangely enough in this country was called Soccer. Even she had played that back home.

Yet here in America game involving mostly using your hands and running the ball back and forth and rarely was actually involving the foot and the ball. So to her it was contradictory and she did not understand it. She turned to him and asked, "So where is this man we have to give a lift to?" He told her where to go. "He's on the strip over by the Four Dragons casino. We give him a ride back to his hood. Simple as that."

They drove up the street and turned onto the strip. They went down the intersection and she couldn't help but feel amazed at one of the busiest places in America. People from all walks of life seemed to congregate there. Yuppies, college students, gangsters, hustlers, escorts, high rolling spenders, tourists, business men in suits, and Elvis impersonators. She was astounded just how much light this city had too. The electric bill alone must have costed more money than she could imagine.

She turned to the larger Nigerian man and asked, "Do we know who we are looking for? There are so many people..." Adnebesi said, "He'll be wearing a red sweater, baggy gray jeans, sandy colored hair. White boy. That is him I think."

They pulled up to the man, who looked to be i his mid twenties. As described he wore his pants sagging Hip Hop style. "Are you Rick?" The guy approached the car. "That depends. Who the fuck is asking?" Adnebesi did not seem at all shocked by what he had said but Nilla found it to be rude. "Top Dolla sent us over here to give you a ride back to your hood. You him or aint ya?"

The guy loosened up looking relieved. "Word? Okay, that's my dawg right there I mean he's a little uptight but you know me and him, we make paper together you feel me?" He got in the car and requested, "Okay, I gotta make one little pit stop before I run home. You mind taking me over to Jack Howitzer Avenue?" She updated that into the GPS. Seth grinned and said, "Going to see one of your clients?"

The man nodded. "Hell yeah. You know, gotta do a little quick exchange really quick. I'm a well known man out here. I started small and I guess I kind of still am but my name is spreading around the strip pretty fast You guys look like you aint from around town. Let me tell you one thing. Just be careful around this town. I mean you be good to the streets they'll be good to you most cases but some people out here are funny when it comes to money. Hear of people gunning down their best friend over twenty bucks. Real cut throat out here, you feel me?"

Nilla was slightly annoyed by his manner of speaking but said nothing. She just wanted to get it over with. Seth on the other hand replied, "Trust me my friend, until you have seen the slums of Lagos, you have no idea what cut throat is. You know out here, it's bling bling but back there it's bling bang. Nothing this city throws at me will faze me."

The guy nodded from the back seat. "Word? I can respect that. But that's why you came out here right? Chasing the money. That's the only reason people come out here really. Otherwise you'd be in another city besides Venturas right?" Nilla shrugged. "Most people that live here are not from here, yes? That is not very reassuring."

Rick scoffed, "Well I am from here shawty! V Town representing! You';re kind of right though. A lot of people from out here that are from here that only goes back about a generation or so. This shit used to be all desert. Then I think it was cowboy type shit, then it was a mafia town, then corporate run. Hell, now I think it's corporate run with mafia type motherfuckers in it but then maybe these big CEO type of players are mafia themselves?"

At the mention of cowboys and the wild west she smirked. _Doesn't get more cliche American than that. _Seth asked the young drug dealer, "I hear things about a place called Area 69. Not on the map and nobody knows where it is except that it is in the desert? Do you know anything about that? Secret military base. Even where I am from stories are told about that. How the government has been keeping that place secret for years?"

Rick shook his head. "Man, I don't know. I mean, I smoke the dro as much as the next guy but I don't be cheefing enough to trip out like some of the homies do. I doubt if the place ever even existed in the first place. Even if it does who cares? I aint getting anywhere near that place. The little bit I have heard is one guy from my hood this Vietnam vet? One friend of his went with him out there one time and they shot his friend but he got away but the about a week later that guy vanished and was never heard from again. I don't know if it's true. Then again maybe he just went back home to Mississippi. Not my business."

Seth asked him, "I once heard this story of how a man snuck into that base a long time ago. Back in the 90's. That he stole a jet pack from the US Army and even stole one of their aliens they had for years. He flew away on it. Just like in your American spy movies. Like the James Stock movies. He was never even caught for it. This man later became a millionaire. Is this at least true?"

Rick snorted. "Urban fucking legend. It's bullshit. Don't believe a word of it. How the hell are you gonna sneak into that place anyway? They'd see you coming a mile away cause it's the only place for miles. I think they don't even let you in if you aint Russian. I could be wrong. I'm not saying it doesn't exist but I don't believe in that jet pack shit or any aliens. They probably just hide the best stash of porno and drugs that they raided from the streets if you ask me."

They pulled up to their destination and Nilla said, "We're here, cowboy," He instructed her to pull up to a tall black man in Hinterland boots, a black denim jacket and blue jeans. Rick rolled the window down. "What it do, pimping?" Said the guy in the boots. He approached the window and said, "Lemme get a dime, bro. You swear by this shit?"

Rick fished in his pockets for a dime of coke. "Yeah I swear by it. What kinda business man wouldn't? But on the real, I'm not fronting it's quality shit, no lie. So what's up, West, you looking for a pick me up? I didn't peg you for a clucker, bro."

The man laughed. "Nah bro you got me fucked up! But nah it aint even like that. I'm just trying to get over same as you, feel me? So what's up on the white girl? And yo who's the cutie behind the wheel? How you doing, gorgeous?" Nilla sighed. "I'll be better when we get a move on."

He nodded. "Aight. All good. Yo, g, so you got that for me or what?" He nodded saying, "You got my cabbage?" The man paid him and he forked over the coke. "Aight good looking, white chocolate. Appreciate you. Oh hold up, you got any interest in the Dribblers game against the Penetrators? Gonna be a big game. I'm on my way to the bookie right now to lay down a bet."

Rick scratched his chin and thought about it. "Aight whatever, money. Yeah place a bet for me," He gave him a wad of cash and said, "But if you win we split the winnings, right? Don't cheat me, bro," The fellow hustler West said, "Don't even come at me like that, partna you know I'm good for it. You always bet on those Dribblers though bro, i'm telling you normally you're right but this time it's gonna be LC. That's on the hood."

He nodded and said, "Okay, fine for once, I'll bet on the Penetrators but West don't make me regret it okay? You've never lost any bets except for when you bet on Liberty. You normally got the magic eye for that shit but with this, just...man, they better win that's all i know."

They slapped dap and he said, "I got you, dawg. Besides I got the luck of the Irish. Can't ya tell?!" They both laughed at that one and slapped dap and a quick hug from inside the car one more time nd Nilla pulled off. "Aight now we're good to go. My place is over in West Venturas. Over on MLK."

She began to drive away from the strip turning left at a light just barely making it past the yellow. Seth asked Rick, "So what kind of parties do you guys throw out here in Venturas?" Rick whistled. "Man! You don't even know, bro! You can't go wrong either way you go! The neighborhood block parties in my hood are always cracking. Then you got the pent house suit parties. VIP's and some times even guys from out where I'm from when they come up throw the best parties in the state!"

He then added, "And you aint really been to Venturas until you see some of the bitches around here. Oh shit, no offense gorgeous," He said to Nilla who once again rolled her eyes. _I I keep eye rolling at this rate they may never come back out of my head. _"I didn't mean that in a disrespectful way i just meant it as a general term for women. But only when I don't know their name you know? Anyway, man, these girlies aint even really hookers man they're high class you feel me? They're clean, legit. No other city can really say that. They got hookers we got escorts in this motherfucker!"

Nilla pointed out, "Vice City had those too. I saw newspaper adds that had their pictures and numbers," Rick laughed at that. "Let me tell ya...anywhere outside of Venturas, the escorts in other cities. They're either a shemale, a dude or somebody that used to be a dude but got a sex change operation. I don't fuck wit em."

They finally arrived in his hood in what looked like a pretty ghetto area. It was majority black but there were some whites and even a few Asians out and about. A couple of men on the corner seemed to be sporting the color gold. Mainly do- rags and jackets but at least one guy had a gold bandanna over his shoulder. Rick thanked the two of them and he fished out two hundred dollars and gave it to them. "Good looking out ya'll. Catch ya later."

As he got out he went to greet a couple of the corner hustlers congregated on the street. They greeted him as he showed up. Whoever these men were they knew him on a first name basis.

They pulled out of the area, Nilla not anxious to stick around. Adnebesi shook his head. "Bitch ass nigga," He said but because of his accent it sounded like he said Nee- Ga. "He ripped us off. Well, since we're not Americans, you and I we share, yes? 50/50?" She smiled at what he said. Though sometimes she worried he was becoming a little too comfortable in America and forgetting who he was but what he said regarding Americans not being a people keen on sharing restored a little faith in her.

She just simply pointed out, "Don't forget what you said. We are new in town, remember? Of course he ripped us off. So we start at the bottom. This is fine. We are used to it anyway and the bottom in this country is better than back home. We will be okay. You will watch my back and I will watch yours. Just like the refugee camps."

She told him, "One minute. I need to call the boss," She called Top Dollar to let him know his client had been taken care of. "It's Nilla. I got him home in one piece. He's a bit of a loud mouth but harmless so far. Just thought I would call to let you know."

He replied, "Well, I'm glad to hear that. I understand the temptation to blow his head off might have been a bit overwhelming but his currency is still green," She was shocked at how casually he had said that about a guy who worked for him. "I didn't say that much. That was all you."

He continued, "I know you didn't say that. I'm saying it. Let me guess. He either hit on you or bragged the whole time about what a big shot he was? He's a small time dope dealer hanging with a crowd that's out of his league but that's the sad irony about a wigger. They'll do just about anything to prove themselves to the real deal. Sometimes a poser can be just as deadly as the real deal simply because they will do whatever it takes to accepted into the in crowd. But his Hip Hop slang doesn't impress me. We got enough of that crap in Vice. The only thing that boy can do to earn my respect and good graces is to continue to be a good business man."

She asked him, "Are you saying he is dangerous? If so I can take back the harmless part but I'm sticking to the loud mouth end of it," Top Dollar laughed almost cackling. "That he is, miss. But it's you that I'm curious about. Are you a pretender or are you the real deal? In certain situations it's a thin and blurry line between the two and in some cases both can be useful when working for a man such as myself."

She didn't know what he was getting at but she wasn't wanting to say too much so early on. "Time will tell what I am. I could tell you that I am this 'real deal' you speak of, whatever you mean by that but I think the better thing to do than telling you what I'm going to do is to just do it without saying anything. To be a doer not a speaker. My father taught me that. Let my actions speak for themselves."

Top Dollar told her, "Sounds like a wise man, your father. A bit like my old man. Wisest sum bitch I ever met. Anyhow, I wired you and Seth $500 each to your Bank Of Liberty accounts," Nilla was confused. "But we haven't got accounts with them."

She could hear the shit eating grin in his tone. "You do now, girly. If you're gonna be working for me you sure as hell gotta. Gotta be careful. Eyes are everywhere. Did you think I wouldn't set up my two new employees with everything they'd need to make it out here? This aint like Vice City. I maybe a man with ambition and I may be building my own empire but I aint got as much of a hold on this city or any city as good Ol' Tommy did on Vice, God rest his soul. Gotta do some things by the book you understand? You have yourselves a nice night, miss. Welcome to Las Venturas."

She hung up and Seth scolded her, "It really should have been me who called him since I was the one who got us this job,"

She disagreed. "I had to put up with the blabber mouth's inane conversation. What difference does it make? To him we're the same. Both foreigners, both out of towners. Out of state, really."

He sighed. "Well, little sister what say we go get a drink on the town? The night is young," She looked at him with uncertainty. "You and alcohol? I do not think that is a good idea," He laughed at this. "You know me too well but not as well as you think, Nilla! I can control myself besides are we not in the land of opportunity? There is no Sharia law here! We can drink as we please."

She shrugged. "If you say so."

_Skennen_

_Same Life Different Barrio._

He was going on his third day in Los Santos. He was staying with Indio. The coyote was not only a man who helped smuggle people across the border for a fee but he was a notorious gang banger on the streets of Los Santos. He was staying with him in the barrio of Las Flores. Indio came into the apartment and said, "Hey homes, you just wake up? Hope you took a shower, bro cause you smelled bad homie! But that's what happens when you're on the run que no?"

Skennen nodded. "Yeah I did. So what now?" Indio told him , "Now we gotta go get you some clothes, Lobo. You rolling with me, hermano, we gotta get you looking proper. There's a store out there in Jefferson still selling clothes. It's kind of hostile territory but you're with me, carnal."

He knew that Skennen had a name that he was known by back in Mexico. Both by the cartel and by the Zapatisatas when he rolled with them. El Lobo. Spanish for The Wolf. He had earned this reputation by his serious dedication to whoever he was rolling with. It wasn't that he had been disloyal to the Spanish Lords, they had just abandoned him over time. They never had visited him the times he'd been busted. They'd had a reputation for being disloyal even back in Carcer City. They had once been loyal and down for the brown but not anymore. Not by the 1980's. Then all they cared about was making money.

He wished he'd figured that out long before he'd been cool with those putos. Then there was the cartel. He'd made money with them but while the Lords had abandoned him, they'd out right betrayed him. The only group that hadn't betrayed him so far was the Zapatistas they had been true to him and the time he was with them he had done the same but when he'd been threatened by the cartel, they'd threatened to go after his mami he had to get out of there.

So there was no question that if people didn't betray him El Lobo was loyal to his pack and would kill for them and die for them. He was loyal to his pack just like a wolf. He was as ferocious as one too. He was actually known more by El Lobo then by his first name. He walked outside with Indio downstairs to his car. He seemed to have more than one. This one was a beat up old gray Tahoma. Indio drove and they drove up the street.

He put the radio onto Radio Los Santos. The song Summer Season by Midget Loco featuring Chino Grande played. Indio smiled. "You like that shit? That's the rola right there!" They listened to the music, the beat was slamming hard. They got to the intersection and he turned down the music as they saw a police car nearby. "Shit! Fucking Jura!" He whispered. "Be cool, man. I jacked this ride the other day."

They were luckily next to them and not behind or in front of them so they didn't run their plates. Indio looked at them and nodded in a friendly matter for deception rather than being cool with them. The cops were both white. One had blonde hair, the one in the passenger seat. The other had sand colored hair and wore sunglasses. They looked like they wanted to say something to them. Lobo thought to himself, _Come on, man. Turn green! Son of a bitch!_

Just then, their dispatch sounded off. _"We got a 211 on the corner of Flauson Avenue, a Korean deli just got held up. Any units in the area please respond," _The cops responded and turned on the sirens and their lights on and sped up the street. As they sped up Indio snorted. "Fucking putos. The fuck were they looking at? You saw that gringo wanted to say some shit to me right? I had this shit on deck ready for these bitches."

He revealed the M9 he had on the side of the seat. "Damn, Indio! You were ready to shoot it out with those pigs?" Indio assured him, "Chale but I was ready to if I had to! Now Vamos, let's get to the store before more cops come by."

They pulled up to the Sub Urban. "Orale. Let's go get you some clothes, Lobo. You look like one of those fob motherfuckers that came over on a boat. But you're Nativo bro!" They got into the store and a woman greeted him as he walked in. "Hi, welcome to Sub Urban. How can I help you today?"

Lobo turned to her and said, "You got any checkered shirts?" She led him to the back. He selected a black T shirt for his muscular broad shouldered frame he needed a larger size because of it. He bought a brown plaid checkered shirt to go with it and some tan khakis. He bought a few other shirts and other plaid checkered shirts. He even got a Dribblers jersey. The color was in blue.

All though many of the local street gangs had their own gang colors and would often try to get the color that they liked but with the same team logo, blue was the color of the Los Santos Dribblers before purple green or red ever was. He checked himself out in the reflection and they went out to go pay for it. The woman, a white lady who was obviously not from around here or if she was, had only moved to Jefferson due to gentrification, asked, "You find everything okay?"

Indio nodded. "Si mon. We're cool," He said as he pulled out a wad of cash to pay her with. When he saw that the clothes added up to $75 all together despite it being a cheaper store, Lobo worried but Indio eased him saying, "No llories, homie. It's on me. That's why we came here, que no?"

They paid and left the store. He offered, "You want to drive, bro? I gotta count mi feria. Gotta run a few errands later on," Skennen got in the driver seat. "Yeah, I guess so. I don't have a license yet though so you sure I should?" Indio nodded. "Yeah it's not a big deal, man. They aint gonna pull you over. and if they do, I'm sure you know how to drive. But they won't stop us. If they do, its lights out for them."

He revealed the gun he still had. "I'm a South Side Azteca, carnal. I don't give a fuck about some chota on a power trip. They know they don't belong around here. That's why they live so far from the ghetto. They know we'd fuck them up."

He then added to lighten the mood, "I'll make sure you get a state's ID and licences okay? But we'll need to get you a fake ID come to think of it. I got a guy who can help us out with that. But If I help you with that bro, just remember one thing all right? If you get a new name, whenever you meet new people you own that shit like it was the name tu madre gave you, entiendes? I don't want it coming back to bite us in the don't tell them your name is Skennen. Not unless they prove they can be trusted and trust me, hermano,a lot of people on the streets can't be. But I got your back."

Skennen nodded. "Got it. So where to? Back to the apartment?" Indio shook his head. "No. Drive us over to 112th street. Got something that needs to be taken care of. Look, I got you covered on anything you need," He explained as Skennen began to drive out that way. "But at the same time, I gotta see what you're made of. I owe you through your mother but I gotta make sure you are who you say you are."

They dropped by the neighborhood in Jefferson which was a ghetto. He pointed out some people hanging out on the corner. A couple of the were dressed in Purple, the colors of the Balling Locs formerly known as Ballas. There was more than a few o them who were hanging out but were not dressed in gang colors as they wanted to escape the attention of the gang units in the area.

Indio pointed out, "This is PJ Locs turf ese. That big housing project right there? That's the Royal Courts projects. Biggest one west of the Mississippi, Lobo. Plus the oldest projects in Jefferson. We got serious pedo with these people. Actually all of the black gangs. Hell, blacks period. We helped them riot in the 92 L.A. riots and you know what they did? They still attacked Mexican grocery stores and pedestrians. No surprise that a lot of the same guys who attacked us though, left their own businesses alone."

Skennen had been in plenty of scraps with blacks back in Liberty but it had been because of their affiliation not their race. The M.O.B. crew was actually an East Coast variant of the Orange Grove Families though the west coast and east coast gangs were not connected not by rag colors or by affiliations on the street and in the joint. "All of them? Estas loco?" Skennen asked.

Indio nodded. "Serio! I'm not kidding. They shouldn't have started a war with us if they didn't want to see it through to the end. They started it and now were finishing it. I don't care who it is. Groves, Locs, whoever, nobody crosses La Onda and lives to talk about it for long."

Skennen asked him, "What's La Onda?" He just told him bluntly. "First we'll see what you're made of. As for La Onda, if you can help me out here, let's just say that's a long conversation and an even longer story for another day. You see that cuervo over there in the black T shirt and blue cargos?"

He beckoned to a lean black male standing about five foot eleven in height but muscular in build. He had some facial hair mainly a goatee and he had dread locks. He had a cocky look on his face, this much he could tell just from whatever the guy was talking about with his homies. "That little bitch right there. His name's George. Despite that vanilla fucking name that chango thinks hes hot shit.,"

Indio pointed out. "He slings for the Locs. I got in a scrap with him a few months ago. He gave me some good hits but over all I wiped the floor with him. When La Jura came and broke it up, and took us in, they asked me if i wanted to press charges. I said no. He said yes. Now his homies, I don't know if they realize he's a pinche rata or they just don't care."

This statement took Skennen by surprise. Indio noticed so he said, "They're losing the war on the streets with us so they'll do whatever they can to even the playing field. They don't snitch on each other when its set tripping between Locs and Family sets or even Grove on Loc pedo but when it comes to us, we're kicking their asses so bad even a lot of their OG's are thinking it isn't the same to snitch on us. They think dropping a dime on us is just getting advantage over us."

He instructed Skennen, "I don't want you to kill him. I can't even go do that myself because I have a meeting with my P.O.. I'd like to stay out of trouble if I can and getting arrested in another fight doesn't show that. All the same I never did get to finish breaking that joto's jaw."

Skennen guessed, "And now you want me to finish doing that?" Indio nodded. "Look, I'm not trying to get you caught up in anything you can't handle. Nothing like that. Just go jack that puto in the cargo shorts up and if any of his homies try to jump in, I'm watching your back from the car. I got the engine running I aint gonna leave you behind,. You do this, I can get you better work, better connections. And above all, homies more loyal than those putos from the Spanish Lords. No disrespect homes but those pendejos haven't been about La Raza since at least the 80's. Shit come to think of it neither have we but at least i can say some of the carnales are trying to get our soldados back on the right track."

He then added, "Even if our cliqua has gotten more involved in the dope trade than protecting our people just like the Lords did, at least i can say most times, nine outta ten, you can trust your compadres out here. If you were a Lord, either in Carcer or Liberty then you heard the saying that a Lord's worst enemy is another Lord? I'm not even saying that myself homes that's what I've heard being said by actual Lords. That's no way to be. Anyway, you do this we got your back, and whether its about raza or making feria, we don't turn on our own."

Skennen nodded and said, "Orale. But you said nine in ten times. What happens with the one in ten times?" Indio laughed. "Chingada! You sound like my ruca, homes! So many questions! Mira, yes, a few people have ratted on their own carnales but putos like that they never last. A few of them are out there scurrying around like the pinche ratas they are but we get them when we want to. Witness protection, protective custody, that shit aint gonna help them. If those lard ass guidos could find their stool pigeons even in other countries when they turned states, what makes you think we can't?"

He then asked Skennen, "So you in or out, Lobo?" Skennen sighed and said, "OK. Just do right by me and I'll be loyal to the end. That's all I ask. The Lords didn't do that and they're gonna get what's coming to them. Believe me I got a number of scores I gotta settle myself once I get my name cleared."

Indio nodded. "Right on, bro! And we can help you with that too. Okay I'll be right here watching if i see any of his boys move in on you I got you covered, comprende? We're Raza, compa. We gotta look out for each other in this city and every other city because if we don't who the hell will?"

Skennen got out of the car and approached the guy as he bid his friends farewell and began to walk in the other direction. Skennen walked up to him and raised both hands at him. "You George?" The guy looked him up and down and said, "Yo who the fuck are you and what are you doing around here? I know everybody that lives out here and I don't know you."

Lobo simply said, "Who I am aint important. The fact that I don't know you? Irrelevant but you probably aint worth knowing anyway. What is important is who my friend is. You act like a big hot shot gangster but deep down you're just a rat that squealed until the bulls let him out of his cage."

The man got up in his face despite being two inches shorter. It did not matter your height but at the same time, it was funny that this guy at five foot eleven acted as though he were seven feet. "What'd you say to me?I'd get to stepping if I was you, cuz! I'm in a good mood today so I might let that slide but don't be testing me. I'm a somebody and I aint no damn snitch!"

Skennen sighed. "Well somebody else doesn't think so," The man looked at the car idling and he cursed, "That motherfucker! I knew that spic would be tripping over some small shit! Hey yo, Reggie come check this fool!" One of the Locs laughed as the guy who was Reggie, a man with short hair, wearing a gray T shirt, long basketball shorts and gold hoop earrings in both ears ignored him as he was talking to a lady, a light skinned black girl with a round booty in a pink shirt and black pants.

The Loc just said, "You know he don't hear for shit when he's with his woman, loc! Come on, G. Show us what you're made of? You aint scared to catch a fade by yourself are you?" The man turned back to Skennen and Skennen decided he wouldn't waste anymore time. He swung his fist hitting the guy in the face. The man staggered back and Skennen hit him again. The guy came back with a swift blow himself. He gave him a kick to the side.

Lobo grunted from the kick and almost fell over but caught balance. The dread threw another blow and hit him hard in the jaw. Skennen fell over and he kicked him in the leg once as he fell down. One of the Locs cheered him on and yelled, "Yeah! Bank on him, George!" He got back up taking two jabs to the face. He was temporally blinded as one had hit him between the eye and the nose. He staggered trying blink till he got his vision back.

He seemed to dance around him and acted like he was gonna throw punches without actually doing it. Then he did do it. It was a ghetto tactic. If you were in defense to make you unsure what they would do and then not do it and then they surprise you with a hard blow.

Skennen was pissed and he hit the guy in the face. He heard the sound of his fist connect with his left cheek bone. Lobo hit him again with a hard left and then followed up with a right jab to the rib cage. He shoved the man back and head butted him. The man's nose was bleeding. Lobo drop kicked him in the abdomen and hit him with two more hard blows. He came at the man again and the guy grabbed Skennen by his long hair which he had braided down Indian style. He grabbed it and pulled on it hard trying to rip it off. Lobo tried the wrist breaking technique and the man tried to grab it again as he punched him, now from the side and he tried to get behind Skennen.

He drove his elbow into George's face causing his nose to bleed even more. Skennen was pissed. Long hair was a symbol of being a warrior to a Native American To grab him by the braid was the cruelest thing one could do short of forcing him to cut it off at a reservation boarding school.

He did the same back to give him a taste of his own medicine. George shrieked and he yanked harder as he punched him first in the side and the in the back of the head while grabbing and pulling from the back. A few pieces of hair came off in his hand and he let it fall to the ground.

Skennen kicked him hard in the back as he hit the ground and growled, "Never touch a skin's hair. Only our women get to do that," He hit the man again and George rolled out of the way of a following kick. He touched his head and saw he had blood on it as well from the ripping of his hair. "Motherfucker! You're a dead man! Nobody fucks with my do!" He tackled Skennen and hit him hard and Skennen was not sure if he had already been bleeding on his bottom lip or if he was just now as a result of the blow but his head jerked back and the black. gang member tackled him again.

This time he used his elbow as he caught a left blow from George and he brought his right elbow down on his arm and then grabbed it with his left arm holding him and punched him in his already bloodied nose and caused him to bleed from his lip too as he busted it with his middle knuckle.

He then still held his hand and brought his left leg down on his arm breaking it in two places with an ax kick. George howled in pain and screamed falling to the pavement. The Loc who had first encouraged George to fight him dropped his beer which shattered on the pavement. "Hell no, aint nobody bludgeoning my partner to death! Yo come on!" Three Locs were suddenly on Skennen and swarming him with blows.

He managed to duck a few but a couple made his lip bleed further. Skennen head butted one of them and punched another but one of the Locs grabbed his arms and the other Locs moved in to to take turns beating him but just then, Indio discharged his pistol twice and all the gang members stopped and looked at the Mexican banger with the smoking gun. "That's enough! Tranquile! Your homie did me wrong. He's a snitching little faggot and he got what he deserved. Don't believe me, ask him. He'll probably deny it but I whooped that puto's ass too and he got released and I got 72 hours community service and two days in jail."

The Loc who had contradicted himself by assisting when his friend ha fought like he said but had intervened when he saw he was getting bested said, "Oh shit he's got a nine! Reggie, shoot this punk!" Indio waved the gun at them and said, "Oye! I got enough bullets in this cuete to lay all of you fuckers out right here in your own hood!"

Reggie came over and pulled the slide back on a Glock 40. "Nah, 'chico'. You got us twisted. You aint about to just come around here and swing on my nigga and expect to just walk outta here. This is our hood we're the hardest hood in Jefferson. Shit, in all, L.S.! You fucking Ass Tecas aint shit. So you wanna start blasting go ahead. My shit is cocked and locked, cousin."

Indio turned to Skennen. "Lobo, go to the glove compartment and get what you find," He went and did just that but not before wiping the blood from his lip. He opened it and found a Colt M1911. It only had seven shots but it was better than nothing. Skennen rejoined Indio and he aimed at Reggie and the other thugs. "Now you got two guns on you, mano. So how about you make your shot? I bet you I'll hit you with one before you can hit me with five, ese. Bet me!"

Reggie lowered his gun and backed up but warned, "That's aight. This is a small world, player. I'll find the both of you and when I do you're going to wish you never met me! I'm a legend in this neighborhood! A king! You're barking up the wrong tree! George, come on get your dumb ass over here and quit crying like a little bitch! You keep crying you're getting a violation!"

The wounded thug groaned and picked himself off the ground. "Come on, man my tooth hurts, cuz!" Reggie shouted, 'Don't nobody feel sorry for you! You're an embarrassment to the hood! How you gonna lose a fight with a Mexican? Those niggas are five foot three!" George beckoned at Skennen who was getting back in the car with Indio, "That one's like six feet, brah and he got a mean right hook! I still threw down with him that's gangsta, isn't it? Win or lose!"

Reggie scoffed. "I've never lost a fight in my life! Little or tall I serve them all! And wipe those tears off your face! If you're gonna perpetrate like you're hard at least don't look like some female watching The Color Purple. Thought you had more heart than that? Guess i was wrong."

As they got in the car, Indio smiled at the reference to the Color Purple. "I agree! You all look very pretty in violet," They heard a commotion from inside the projects and two gang members both armed, one wearing a puffy black coat and a purple San Andreas T shirt, this one also with a messy afro and Hinterlands which did not seem to go with the rest of his outfit. The other a man in a purple hoodie and blue jeans, wearing a Liberty City Cocks hat tilted to the left, both came running at the two of them. They fired their guns, one, the guy in the puffy jacket, was packing a .357 Magnum but in the form of a Desert Eagle. The Loc in the sweater was carrying a Walther P99.

Reggie whooped, "Yeah! There we go! That's more like it!" He joined in firing upon the car as Skennen and Indio got in. Two rounds went through the wind shield and three sparked off the hood. Another narrowly missed Skennen's ear as a round went through the windshield. Skennen put the car in reverse and hit drive as Indio returned fire out of the window. As he pulled a U, Indio's rounds hit one of them, the guy in the sweater. He fell in the street as one round hit him in the stomach and a round lodged into his bladder, another in the left femur, and a third in the right shin bone.

Skennen kept his head down as they continued firing and he floored it out of there even as the Locs fired the rounds at the back of the car taking out the left tail light and hit the San Andreas license plates. One female from the hood even threw a beer can at the side of the car which spilled the foamy drink all over the back left window. Indio stuck his whole body out of the window and fired the last of the rounds at her and she took off running but she fell in the street and he knew he had hit her.

Whether she had been killed or wounded was up for debate but either way a message had been sent. As they took off up the street heading back to Las Flores, Skennen shouted, "Man! That was fucking crazy! I haven't had shit like that happen in at least three months! Holy shit..."

Indio reloaded and said, "Yeah well I wish I would have hit them all but you were turning around pretty fast. I gotta get out to the range to practice more so I don't get rusty. It's just like my hermana. She maybe a black belt but that doesn't mean it's not still good for her to keep practicing que no? And she's a warrior too. She runs five miles a day. I can't even do that shit, homes!"

Skennen replied, "You'd be surprised what you could do if the situation called for it. Adrenaline is funny like that," He handed Indio a wallet and said, "By the way, here's his feria. I figured that would add insult to injury. He must not be too smart if he didn't even notice i pick pocketed him."

They tore up the street and Indio asked, "You want to get something to eat, bro? My treat,"Skennen nodded. "Sure," He looked down at the old school gun that had been around since the turn of the 20th century. "Where did you get that piece of shit?" Indio seemed to take offense to that. "Hey, next time don't use it, cabron! Shit, cheap hardware is better than no hardware!"

He then added, "It was a gift from an old girlfriend back in High School. I've used it a couple times but I don't care for those types either. I mean we'll get you something better like a Glock or one of these," He said referring to his own gun, "But for now you get what you get, entiendes? I got a few spare mags in there for it too. We'll get you some better heat when we have more cash but for now just make due, all right?"

Skennen nodded and Indio asked, "You want something to eat, man? My treat."

Skennen nodded. "Sure," They began to drive to a burger joint over on J Edgar Street. Minutes later as they pulled into the Moobies fast food restaurant. They got out of the car and went inside. "Get whatever you want, Skennen," Said Indio, calling him by his first name. "I don't got enough feria right now to get a better you-know-what for ya but that doesn't mean we can't grub like kings!"

Skennen ordered a Triple Ripple bacon burger, ten piece chicken clucks , large fries and a large E Cola. To go with he got a Triple Dip soft serve. Indio got a Burger Flopper, large fries, a sprunk, eight piece chicken clucks, and a soft serve Triple Dip as well.

As they ate, Skennen ate the burger and within a few bites despite the burger's size he was about halfway through it. Indio observed and said, "Dios mio, how long has it been since you've eaten, carnal? I got money you can get another burger! Nobody's going to take it from you, bro. Easy!"

Lobo chewed the bite of burger and then said, "In Mexico, we had stuff to eat too but a lot of times we had to just eat what there was. So I survived on brown rice and water," Indio looked at him his eyes widened and Skennen added, "Bottled water," as the well known rule was you don't drink water in Mexico. Ever."

Indio shook his head saying, "Well damn, I know how it is out there you know but we're here now. You're ever hungry I'll help you okay? If I aint there my ruca will be.," Skennen smiled as he dipped his fries in ketchup. "So how come you've got my back so much? I mean just over what you told me about mi madre? That's reason enough for you?"

Indio shrugged taking a sip of Sprunk. "All I can say about that is, I don't like to forget where I'm from and how hungry I used to be. I'm not rich I probably never will be but I know I have enough and I'll always try to help out when I see somebody down on their luck. I remember that hunger that's why I help you now. Only thing is, I've helped out other guys your age and they've made me regret it. You aren't ever gonna do that are you? Be straight with me I'll be straight with you."

Skennen told him, "I could tell you I'm going to be but I know you've probably heard that before if those vatos did let you down however they did. I think actions speak louder than words so I'm not gonna tell you anything. I'll just show you."

Indio was impressed by that answer. "Yeah? That's what I like to hear. You talk like a real man. If you can stand by your word on that then you are a real man. A lot of people on the streets think they're men but you know what they really are?" Skennen rolled his eyes. "I don't know, a woman? I'm not chauvinist bro."

Indio corrected him on the misunderstanding. "Okay but neither am I. What I mean is they think they're men but they're really boys. They'll say one thing and do another. Make a promise and break it. Not just with me either. They'll make their girlfriends promises and not follow through. Their mothers, their kids, too. That isn't a man."

Skennen agreed with that. "That's just laziness and irresponsibility. Sometimes you can't keep every promise but when I don't it's usually for a good reason. Otherwise, I'd do what I said I would. An example would be, say if I had a friend that needed a dollar and I told them I'd help them when they need it and they called in a favor, if I don't have the dollar but I have 50 cents I'd still give it up. I can't always give it my all but I do what I can."

Indio said between a bite of burger, "That's all any of us can do. Well said, carnalito," Just then a female approached them, a woman of Mexican American ancestry with dark wavy black hair in a bob cut brown eyes and deep brown skin. She wore a pair of tight jeans that showed off her nice and round curvaceous ass. On too of that she wore an aqua blue blouse. "Indio! Como esta?" He stood up from his chair and gave her a hug. "Esmeralda it's been too long! I'm good. Y tu?"

She modestly said, "I'm just doing a little shopping, que no? Out and about, paying some bills and shit. My nephew's got a birthday coming up," She then observed Skennen and asked,"Who is this?" Indio introduced the two and said,"This is mi amigo El Lobo. Let's leave it at that for now. Lobo, this is Esmeralda Fuentes."

She shook hands with the young Zapatista gun men. "Gusto en conocerlo, Lobo. My friends call me Ezzy. A friend of Indio is a friend of mine," Indio winked at Skennen observing the nervous look on his face. "She's a loca from the hood, bro. She's just classy enough to be one of the ladies from the hills."

Esmeralda laughed at that. "Flattery isn't a compliment, Indio. But Gracias," Skennen said to her, "El placer es mío también, señorita."

**(Pleasure is mine as well, miss. )**

So will we see you at Lupe's birthday? At least come through and say hi? It's this Friday," Indio thought about it. "I'm not really sure. I've gotta check my schedule but how about I let you know?"

A couple of people, a man and a woman both with Arab looking features came over. Esmeralda beckoned to the two of them and she said, "Out and about with friends I forgot to say. Hey Andrei! Come over here! Come say hi!" The man and woman came over. Indio told Skennen, "Perdone un momento, amigo." (**Excuse me a moment, friend)**

The Azteca stood up to talk to the two people who it turned out were Armenians. "How is it going, my friend? And who is this new guy?" Asked the man, who had a thick beard and curly black hair. He wore a silk shirt that was white and black striped and fancy black pants with black loafers. Indio introduced him once again. "This is Andrei. A business associate of mine. And this is his daughter Rena."

They shook hands and Skennen politely said, "Nice to met you two," Andrei ran a finger through his beard. "Ah Lobo. That is Wolf, yes? As opposed to this guy who is coyote!" Indio nudged him and said, "Keep it down, bro," Andrei sheepishly apologized and Indio said, "I understand it happens but just be careful. Eyes everywhere, entiendes?"

Andrei leaned in close to the Mexican gang banger and said, "In that case, when you have some free time would you please come see me at my place? You and I work together in the interests of business. Well I won't say any details here but let's just say you and I, us, our business partnership we've got trouble in North Vinewood, my friend. I was hoping you could lend a helping hand?"

Indio shook hands with him and said, "Sure. I'll try and drop in tomorrow. That work?" The Eurasian man nodded. All three bade them farewell and went to go order their food to go. Soon the three were gone leaving the two Mexican criminals to eat by themselves. As they ate, Skennen eating a Chicken cluck, the TV showed a Moobies commercial.

A little girl with red hair tied in pig tails was shown eating a hamburger. "_Hi!_ I_'m Wendy Mooby. The daughter of Dave Mooby, the founder of the national Moobies fast food chain. You might recognize me as the girl on the sign! I used to be a cute and petite little girl but after my father died years ago as a result of too much fast food, I fell into a deep depression and began eating for comfort. As a result, I'm now morbidly obese and my daddy's lawyers said I can't be the spokesperson for Moobies until i lose weight! So now, I feed my anxiety even more. I want to run my father's business and I figure there is either two ways I can do this."_

Indio laughed as they watch the commercial. "They shouldn't put ads like that it's doing them more harm then good. They'll make people want to not eat here!" Wendy then said, "_My daddy said you are what you eat. Well if that's the case that explains why I am slowly but surely becoming a cow! So I decided there's two ways I can take over Moobies. I can either keep n eating what I am till I'm a cow myself and am forced to eat only grass which would mean I'm also eating my father as he is surely fertilizer by now seeing as he is dead and buried and will soon be eatable to the same cows he used to make into square shaped patties! I can become a Delicious cow and then be reincarnated in the Hindu religion as a hotter me or option B, and ten they'd let me back in as the spokeswoman or I can keep on encouraging you all to buy Moobies hamburgers."  
_

Skennen rolled her eyes at the statement. "That's bullshit, Ramon. I think we both know that. There's nothing wrong with eating this every now and then in moderation but if you do eat it every day all your life, of course you'll end up a fat slob!" Wendy Mooby continued, "_I'd much rather get my stomach stapled than to have to wait until the next life to own what is mine as my fathers daughter. Moobies is good in moderation but only in moderation!" _Skennen took a bit of the chicken cluck after dipping it in honey mustard and said, "Thank you!"

_"I'm Wendy Mooby. Come on down to Moobies. We're still more healthy than most fast food places except for Run-A-Train sandwiches but only liberal queers eat there. Them people try to give you fruits and vegetable on them fancy healthy like sandwiches. You don't wanna be no fruit or vegetable do ya? Look how that turned our for Micheal Jackson and Christopher Reeve! Remember, You Are What You Eat!"_

With that it showed the image of the thin little girl shoveling burgers in by the pound until she became fat. As she kept eating, she became a cross between a cow and a human as she was overweight and had the nose and facial expressions of a cow but still the same red pigtails. With that, the symbol was in place by the Moobies insignia represented on the sign_. "Also, don't forget we are open till one AM! To hell with those people telling you to not eat after three hours before bed time. There is nothing more American than a good ol' Midnight snack!"_

Finally, later on the two of them left the place after they'd finished it.

_One Week Later..._

A car load of Balling Locs rolled into the Las Flores area. It was both a city and an unincorporated area. A gang member rode in the back seat, George, the same gangster who'd had his nose and arm broken a week ago was riding in the back. He had a bandage over his nose and a cast over his bad arm. Still in his good arm, he had a glock 18. He set it to automatic. Reggie was driving and a homeboy who had his back that day was riding up front. He had a Beretta in hand. They were out for blood.

The Cavalcade slowly rolled through Las Flores Avenue as it intersected with Flame Stone boulevard. They spotted several gang bangers wearing stitches of Aqua blue and Royal blue. They could have blasted on each and every one of them and George would enjoy doing it but he wanted the guy who did it. If he couldn't find that motherfucker, he would find the guy he knew was behind it.

That punk ass Mexican, Indio. He had caught a fade with that little bitch and while he had to admit Indio had done some damage it didn't really matter if George had lost or won. It was the fact that he was willing to keep coming at him even as he was getting beat. The fact that he had thrown down was gangster. Now Indio had some outta towner coming out to the hood starting shit? On top of that, Indio had people all over the motherfucking hood talking about George was a snitch.

Deep down he knew he had pressed charges due to being on the losing side of that fight but there was no way he was finna let any of the homies know that! He thought there was a good chance that the homies wouldn't care anyway. It was a more deadly gang war than there had been between the Ballas and the Groves. Back in the 90's to even snitch on a OGF buster or vice versa was wrong but with this, it wasn't snitching. It was dropping a dime. It was getting one over on the enemy.

Reggie who wore a white do-rag and a purple North West Wolves jersey sneered looking at the gang members who were clearly preoccupied with their own business. Then again, the ones that were looking at the vehicle didn't know who was in it. Reggie had tinted windows. George knew if any of them knew there was three blacks in the car, they would not only be rushing or shooting at it but they'd possibly even try to crowd up around it and push it over as some Mexicans in the 92' riots had done to police cars.

An SUV was bigger than a cruiser but it was still possible to do. Though they were not aware of exactly who was in the vehicle a few pee wees which would be known in a black gang as BG's or Baby Gangstas took notice. "You know anybody in one of those gas guzzlers, homes?"

Asked a youngster on a bike wearing a hair net, cargo jean shorts and a white T. His friend, a taller leaner vato with a shaved head and a wife beater shook his head. "No I don't. Keep a trucha, bro. It could get ugly."

They knew they were risking their own lives just coming into this hood. While it was true the Locs hood in Las Flores, a South Los Santos community, was right alongside that of the Las Flores 13, a Southside Azteca clique, it was not their own hood.

It was the East Side Locs, one of the most notorious sets the hood ever knew. It didn't matter if they went by Ballas as some g's still did or simply as Loc, since Loc was what Ballas had called each other back in the day.

The East Side Locs from Las Flores were bonafide bad the 90's they had been a super hood when the hood was still majority black and even now that it wasn't they were still holding onto their turf. Even with demographic change, both how it was and how it had once been, Las Flores 13 was one of the oldest Mexican gangs and the East Side Locs were one of the most notorious and hated.

Many Locs themselves, though still under the banner of Loc, which stood for Love Of Criminals, which they wer also sometimes known as just like the Groves sometimes went by their individual hood, as OFG or just Groves in general, they had several identifying names too, but all the same many Loc sets were beefing with each other. The Kilo Trey set and the Rolling Heights niggas had been beefing for years and supposedly it was over a woman. The same was true for the ESL and their hood.

So either way, they were in hostile turf. "Damn, man look at all these barrio, rats fool! Walking around here like they own this fucking city. Don't they know we run this shit?" Reggie griped. The homeboy that was with them, a nigga named Clean, who had his hair cut relatively short and wore a pair of blue Pro Laps kicks, a purple sweater and a pair of black baggy jeans, looked out at them. "We should just start dropping all of them, cuz! Fuck waiting just for one taco bender."

George snarled, "Look, nigga. You know why we're doing it like this. After we do this it's gonna be real hot around their hood and ours and one times gonna come around asking questions about who seen what. Now most of our hood is cool but you know some of them old Baptist ladies might not realize times changes and if that's the case they might start talking. Anyway, I don't wanna bring any heat on us for no good reason. If we're gonna blast, we're getting the right guy."

Reggie laughed. "George, who cares if somebody in our hood starts talking? If those old grand mamas aren't smart enough to figure out the pigs are the enemy too, they don't deserve to live. I mean they're always saying they grew up in the south, right? That they were at the march on D.C and in Montgomery and all of that noise? Well if that's the case then they should know the pigs can't be trusted so why would any black grand mama in their right mind be talking to C.R.A.S.H.? This is real life, not a Science Of Crime episode."

Reggie added, "If any of those "'Baptist Old Ladies' talk to the five o, we can send them on up to heaven. One way ticket. A snitch is a snitch I don't care how old they are."

George, though he considered himself down, looked at his partners with confusion. "Hold on, mang. I never said anything about capping anybody's grandma. You got me fucked up. I'm down for whatever except no old people and damn sure not no kids."

Reggie snapped, "Why do you care? If it's a senior citizen it's not like they had their whole lives in front of them anyway. Are you going soft on me or what?"

Clean snorted. "Why do you gotta drag me into this mess? You're the one that got his ass kicked, not me. You're sluffin, g. Matter of fact you got a beat down twice! Lose one fight, that's cool it happens. Lose two fights and then I gotta wonder if you're really as hard as you act or if you're just tough when you got a strap tucked up in your waist line?"

George took offense to that. "Man, if you wanna step outside right here in the heart of Tijuana, let's head up outside! I aint the one, Clean. Nobody said shit when that body building fool from Grove Street hood knocked you out. And what did you do? Came back the next day and lit him and his little brother up. So if it's okay for you to get payback it's cool for me too!"

Reggie told them both, "Shut up! You're giving me a head ache! George, I hear you bro, I get what you're saying but Clean is right. You did get dropped by a little nigga and then by that moose looking Varrio Rat. So if you don't drop everybody you see out here, or as many as you can, don't bring your ass around the hood again."

Reggie spotted Indio on the corner talking to two cholas. "There he is right there!" Clean was excited as he puled the slide back on his gat. "That's what I'm talking about. Roll em down, loc. They're gonna get a lesson in street justice today."

Just as they were about to roll down the windows and started to, they saw a police car pull up and two cops got out and began chasing a few teenagers who were on the corner selling bud up the street. "Come here you little asshole!" Yelled one of the cops, getting his billy club out. His partner, an Asian American woman stopped him and said, "Wait a minute, Bill. They're just kids. Not for this,"

Bill, a mean looking white guy listened to her but he muttered "Fucking democrats...let me do my job!" As he chased them. George warned, "Hold up, man! We can't. Five o!" Reggie saw them and groaned. "You gotta be kidding, George. Are you serious? They had to show up now?"

Reggie began to pull away but one cholo looking to be in his early twenties chucked his beer can at the SUV. He seemed to be fully aware that the cops were just down the street. "What's, up homes? The fuck are you doing around here? You looking for trouble?" Reggie swallowed his pride and pulled up flooring it out of there. Though he was speeding and the pigs probably saw it, he didn't care. Maybe some of these guys didn't give a fuck if they got life in the pen so long as they got to shoot a Baller?

"Sorry, George," Said Reggie. "We've gotta do that another time. I promise we will," As they drove by with the window open he saw Indio and Indio saw him. Indio mad dogged him and he mean mugged the cholo back. He pointed his finger out the window and said, "Bang," As a threat to the Chicano low life.

The Azteca on the other hand, made a responsive body language threat this one implying more up close. He made a neck slicing motion. George felt a lump in his throat. He would never admit it to the homies but he was scared. He just knew he would have to shoot and make sure he got him the next time he encountered the Las Flores banger.

Clean asked, "You aight, man? Kind of quiet. Expected you'd be more pissed off about what just happened. You aint scared are you?" George lied, "Hell to the no! I'm never scared of anything. Not even God! Just get us back to the hood, Reg. We'll come back and we'll hit these fools where it hurts when five o is out at Rusty's Brown Ring or something like that," He then added, "But next time let's bring the better straps. Mac's you feel me?"

Clean slapped hands with him. "I'm feeling that, dude. Squeeze it off until there's nothing left!" Clean made his stomach feel uneasy as he said, "We'll dump on their baby mamas too. Preven another litter of these Ass Tecas from being born."

Meanwhile as they went by, Skennen approached Indio who looked troubled. "You all right, skin?" Indio turned to him saying, "That Lobster you beat the shit out of George? I think he was going to do a drive-by. If it weren't for those puercos, I think they would have shot at anybody in sight."

Skennen looked at the man and said, "Well what do you want to do about it?" Indio sighed. "I gotta call a meeting with the varrio. They will be coming back, Lobo. It isn't a question of if. It's when and how hard. When they do come back, we need to be ready for them, endtiendes?"

He then added, "Got some people I'll introduce you to before hand. I know you're down for yours and you had my back on that issue but I want mi compadres to be sure of the same thing. Let the homies know you're cool. For now, far as I'm concerned you're an Esquina."

_Rory_

_New Places, Old Faces._

Rory was glad to be back among friends in particular his brothers in arms. He'd had trouble getting settled in though. It seemed quiet here in San Fierro. Almost too quiet. He now had an email and a new cell phone. His brother had truly been looking out for him. Rory was watching the TV. He had been slouching a bit and hadn't seen his brother for a few days, either one of them.

He was watching a funny American TV show called Cubicle Sloths. It was about three stoners that worked in an office who usually slacked off and did not do their work. Often, they would go to either smoke a bowl in the bathroom or jerk off during their shift. In this particular episode, the guys and their co workers were dropping acid.

There was one guy, a man with poofy red hair who as they were contemplating doing acid, was talking to a guy with brown hair, eyes and a generally goofy look about him. He was in front of a shrine with a lot of Catholic paraphernalia. "_Dude this is my God shrine. When we take acid I hope we see God. I always thought God was like a woman not a dude. BIG OL TITTIES! But like, titties you have to respect because it's God bro."_

The guy with the poofy hair responded, "_Yeah? What question would you ask God if you could?" _The brown haired man said, "_I'm thinking that there might actually be some questions God would want to ask me. Like for instance, how many women have you slept with?"_

The red haired guy said, "_Yeah? How many girls have you slept with?" _The dark haired man responded, "_What do you think you're God, bro? You can't ask me that! A hundred...No actually it was five..."_

The red head added, "_I always was thinking the first time I dropped acid, I'd want to see something more real than God you know? Like a dragon," _His friend seemingly took offense to that and said, "_That's blasphemy," _And he crossed himself.

Later in the show, they had taken acid and they were tripping and they saw a woman at a front desk lobby in a Hotel. Their boss, who was also high on acid with them, was freaking out claiming that a chair was speaking Spanish to her. She also was having a vision that the marble counter in front of them was made of orange jello and in her drug induced state, she believed herself to be eating the jello but in reality was grabbing at air and weeping like a crazy person.

Meanwhile the two guys and their third friend, a man with sandy blonde hair approached the desk clerk. The brown haired man actually was not high either but he believed he was supposed to be and determined their drug dealer, Karl, had shorted him. He actually was high but it was not the results he had expected.

The blonde man, Anders was the only one not high aside from the clerk as well. The red haired man said, "Adam...look! It's God! Just like you said!" In his mind, the blonde haired clerk, was God simply because the light was reflecting off her that he thought she was glowing. He was clearly tripping harder than Adam was. Adam then approached the clerk and said, "_"You're God? No offense but somehow I thought they'd be bigger."_

The lady looked at him confused. "What are you talking about?" Adam said, "_You're God, right? I just thought your fun puppies would be bigger, you know your chesticles? Anyway, God I dropped acid and I'm crazy bummed out cause I feel like I didn't get a good batch of the shit. Plus I've only slept with five women in my life and I wish it was a hundred! I need to be slaying babes with my meat sword but I've had to keep it in its sheath! What's with that, lord? You've got a messed up sense of humor."_

The red haired man, Blake grabbed a picture off of the clerk's desk. "_Dude, Adam, Ders, check it out! God has a picture of me!" _In reality, the picture was not a picture of the poofy red haired man but of a golden retriever. "That's my dog, put that down!"

As Rory watched this he was laughing pretty hard, a lot harder than he had in a while. It was strangely liberating. He hadn't actually laughed in years. Americans had a very strange sense of humor but somehow he understood it. Maybe it was because he was Irish. Their outlook on life helped them see dark humor. The bit with the moron talking about God's tits would have been scolded by his Mum and Da. They would have seen that as offensive. Though Rory wished he could one day see his parents again, despite them being dead, he didn't believe in God.

Sure he'd been raised in the church but after years in the struggle and seeing friends die bloody and painfully at the hands of the feckin limeys, even though they were simply fighting for mother Ireland, he wondered what kind of loving and benevolent creator could allow so much killing to go on. He was somewhere between an atheist and an agnostic. Atheist, because of his views toward God, even his anger and how he couldn't understand why he did not answer the prayers and cries of hungry children who prayed for their families but did not get any answer.

He was agnostic, however in the sense that he couldn't simply put his faith solely in Darwin's theory. Sure evolution made sense and he believed in it but even if it was real, he couldn't simply only believe in that. After all, scientific theories were always changing. He didn't know what a lot of the answers in the universe's many mysteries were and because he did not know, it was in that sense that he was Agnostic. He was even okay with the idea of there being an afterlife where all the dead could meet up with with their loved ones again in the afterlife.

Though he disagreed with much of Christianity and religion abroad he liked the idea of the good being rewarded and bad being punished. Especially since in his own life and a lot of other people's lives, in reality, it was the exact opposite in this life. He just didn't buy into the concept of a God, a ruling figure running the show. He was angry at all his losses in life and rightfully so. He just would rather, that in the after life, the spirits of people almost like a true court of the people determined the fates of good and evil souls.

Not some puppet master who made humans think they had free will but were still a puppet because they thought like puppets. They relied on the puppet master rather than themselves. In his many years on this earth, Rory had become a cynic. He was an Irish cliche. Just then he got a call on his cell phone. He hit talk on the whiz wireless and put it to his ear. "Ya?"

It was John. "Top of the morning ya fob cunt! Listen, Rory, get your whee arse over here! I think you've spent a little too much time in front of the idiot box. I want you to swing by my work place. I got some people i want ya to meet. It's also time to earn your keep around the house if you know what I mean? Not trying to be harsh on you, laddy, I just don't want you to get lazy like the Americans are."

Rory grinned. "Aye, I'll be there ya twat. And I don't mind working to earn my keep when I'm living rent free. You've looked out for me as a brother like you always have and I'm in debt to you, brother."

John impatiently said, "Yeah yeah yeah, spare me the formalities and get over here! You gotta see what I've been working on all these years we been apart,. Drop by my business. I've got an auto shop repair in Doherty. It's Wang Cars automobiles. Now get the fuck over here!"

Rory was about to tell him he wouldn't be living rent free permanently. Even though he knew his brother would let him without a moments hesitation he did not want to put that kind of burden on him. He would find a way to earn money and get a way to money to help pay at least part of it. Before Rory could say it, however he heard a dial tone. "Jerk off."

He muttered as he put the cell phone away. He went outside and looked out at the busy street. He began to walk down the street trying to determine how he was going to get to that side of town.. He had a little bit of money, just what Johnny had given him which what he had on him now, amounted to $100.

He walked up and saw some teenager in a striped T shirt, a young, black male, tagging up the wall in an alley. Actually the kid looked mixed between Black and Cambodian.

He noticed a car idling by near him. The kid was part of what was called a "Tagger crew" Not necessarily a gang, just a group of loosely affiliated youths committing vandalism. The guy driving the car, which Rory observed, was an orange Sultan, was a white guy with dirty blonde dreads that almost looked like some beatnik, in either his late teens or early twenties. "Tony, hurry the fuck up, man! I can't believe you wanted to do this in broad daylight!"

The kid tagging up the wall, in some insignia Rory could not comprehend just rolled his eyes. "You worry too much, brother. Everything's going fine. The police are too busy chasing actual criminals out there, man. We aren't like that. This is just expressive art. Which happens to be illegal," The kid then chuckled, "So the law can't always be right!"

The guy in the car said, "Yeah i get that but if we get caught you try telling that to a cop or to the judge! They're so anal about that around here!" Tony walked over to the guy's car and said, "Shut up, already. I'm done. Let's get out of here."

Rory made himself scarce. The beatnik said, "Well, hold on, dude. Since we're here...you wanna get high?" The kid nodded. "You know I'm with it! Blaze it up, fam!" The beatnik asked him, "No have you ever dropped acid before?" Rory smirked as he listened in, trying to get closer to the car without being seen. The kid declines saying, "Nah, man. I don't get down with that. I had a friend who did that once and he tripped out badly. He almost went crazy. As a matter of fact he hasn't been right ever since!"

The guy continued with his peer pressure. "Come on, T! Don't be a pussy, amigo! You know the Beatles wrote some of their best music on acid? So did Jimi Hedrix. As a matter of fact, any stories you ever heard of people overdosing on that shit or shrooms for that matter is a lie. The reality is they OD's on heroin. It's literally impossible to overdose on acid. I promise."

The kid still didn't like the idea. "Joey, that you. That's not me. I don't want to see things that aren't there. I smoke bud to chill out. I started smoking so I'd ease up in school with getting in fights. It helped me with my anger problems a lot Now when I'm keyed everything is gravy. The point is, I don't fuck with anything harder than weed. No way, Jose."

The guy just shrugged. "Okay. If you say so. But Jennifer has done it before. So what , T? Do you think of her as a junkie? That's the girl you like , right?" The guy looked down not sure what to say. "Well yeah...I mean no but...really? She doesn't seem like that type. Like she would ever do anything hardcore like that but I mean..."

Rory had heard enough. He crept up to the unsuspecting driver and pulled him out of his car. "Get the fuck out of the car, ya plonker! Your mums a fucking sleg!" He rammed the guy's head against the steering wheel before pulling him out. The guy fell onto the ground and Rory got in the car. The Irishman got next to the youth in the front seat and said, "So are you gonna fuck off or come along, then?"

The youth got out and Rory, before he put the car in gear said, "I suggest you find some better company, lad. He's a fucking header," The youth got out of the car and took off but as he did, the beatnik grabbed Rory and pulled him out of the car. "Where the fuck are you going with my car, asshole?!"

He kicked him in the chest as he hit the alley ground. He got up and the man hit him again. He came back swinging. "Come on, you ugly twat!" Rory said as his fist connected with the man's jaw. He hit him with a left followed by a right. As the man took the blows he staggered back but kept his dukes up and he blocked Rory's next blow. He head butted Rory and it hurt like bloody hell.

Rory swung back, angry, hitting the man with a jab to the left rib. The guy grabbed Rory by the coat and said, "You fucking asshole! Nobody fucks with the Bay Town Tagger Crew!" He hit him with a hook to the cheek and kicked him. The guy went to the other side of the car and picked up the dropped spray can. He shook it up and said, "What's the matter, amigo? Looking a little green from envy!" He sprayed him in the face and Rory backed up staggering and coughing.

As soon as he could see just a little bit, despite the burn of it, he tackled the man and bombarded him with a flurry of punches at least eight by his count and followed up with two kicks as the man went down. The bloodied beatnik tagger fell, his nose broken, his lip busted to shit and a cut on his cheek. He grabbed the man by his dreads and pulled him to the door way of the car. He first slammed his head on the hook of the car and cracked his head open. The man fell in the doorway and onto the hround. Rory then slammed the door on him twice.

He spat, "You're trying to get a young man to take acid, mate. You lost your car privileges. Courtesy of the douche bag police," He took the wankers wallet too and took the money out of it. He looked at the driver's licence and said, "Joey Sanders, huh? Well now I know where you live. Just remember that, fucko. Do you ever want to see my face again? You'd better not say a word of this to the law."

Joey crawled and shook his head. "No I don't...just let me out of here bro..." There was a couple of teenagers who witnessed it and were recording with their own whiz wireless got in the car. He pulled up alongside of them and he retrieved $20 and chucked it at them. "Here's some money now piss off and forget you saw me."

The teens grinned as they scooped it off the ground. "Easiest twenty bucks ever made!" The other said, "It's half mine, he was talking to both of us," The other said, "The hell he was, dip shit! He was just talking to me!" Rory pulled away letting the delinquents sort it out among themselves. Rory began to drive out to where the shop was. He was grateful for the GPS system so he punched in where he needed to get to and began to follow the lady's directions.

He switched through the radio stations trying to find something he liked. He settled on Radio X as the song The Hands That Built America by U2 played. His driving was a bit sloppy as he drove through the streets of San Fierro but had managed to be just good enough to not get him pulled over. Considering he was an illegal immigrant, this was a good thing.

He just was not used to driving on the left side of a car. He was amazed by how huge the city was. The diversity, the carefree yet laid back nature of it. He saw women walking by with latte's in hand, men in business suits, black teenagers at bus stops texting, a couple of skimpy dressed college students walking and laughing together, he even saw a man dressed as a woman. A bloody dag queen.

The drag queen looked at him and snapped, "What?! Are you another Jesus freak here to call me a fag? Save your hetero sexism for somebody who wants to hear it! I'm a free spirited woman! Society doesn't get to label me as a man and neither do you!" The drag queen wore a leather skirt with a flannel jacket over a purple blouse.

Rory laughed and answered, "When you put it like that, no ma'am! Though I must say, you're the ugliest fecking woman I ever saw in me life! And you dress like shite! Guess that's one stereotype you busted didn't ye?"

He drove off as the light turned green and the drag queen flipped him off and yelled, "Fuck off, loser!" Rory howled with laughter and shouted back, "Aye! that's what happens when ya take off your knickers!" He said returning the bird and referring to the visual of a closed fist turning to a middle finger making a pun of sexual nature.

He pulled up to the spot in Doherty five minutes later, enjoying Bono's music. He got out and walked inside. Wang Car's had been a lot smaller in the 90's but since then, had annexed what had once been the Pay N Spray into a mechanic shop. As he walked up he saw John talking to a man in a green T shirt, a pair of gray stone washed jeans and some brand new red Con gym shoes. John told the guy, an African American male looking to be in his thirties, "We should have it ready in a couple of days but no sooner if you want it done right."

The man seemed disappointed but said, "You sure about that? aight, you're the mechanic. If I could do this at home I wouldn't have trucked my ass out to this side of town and given you my hard earned paper," John grinned. "America's fucking great isn't it, boyo?" The man muttered, "Man, I guess...I should have paid attention in auto shop. John looked to Rory and said, 'Hang on a minute, M, I'll talk to you in one second. Need to talk to my family."

The man answered a cell phone call and said, "Ok. Handle your business. One of the honeys is blowing my phone up. Hate to keep them waiting," Rory demanded, "Who the fuck is that? An what the hell did you get yourself into this time? I know damn well you don't own this shop ya bastard so what's the real story behind this?"

John patted Rory on the back and walked with him putting an arm around the 38 year old. "Rory, I got a family to feed now, you know? As a matter of fact I wanted you to meet them! Come inside with me! Anyway me point is, I'm trying to live the straight life. Years in the struggle, several more as an outlaw biker, and I've had just about enough of the gun play. I think deep down, you have too. Until, I'm rich, I gotta use me talents. Working here on cars for American customers."

Rory crossed his arms pulling out of his grasp."How did you get to work here? You said yourself you're a felon. You were in a biker gang, been to jail both here and our homeland. So how do you explain it? Did you get yourself in debt?"

John shook his head. "Broham, you know me better than that. Look, the fellow who ran this place so many years died a few years back. He left a lot of his associates in charge, some hot shots like himself to run this place. I don't rightly know. Could be Triads, could be some street gang, possibly even the feckin mafia who knows? But their business never gets down to me. Sure, I'm sure there's dirty things going on and maybe this is a laundering front but as far as I'm concerned this is the straight and narrow!"

His customer waved as he left. He led Rory to the garage and showed him what kind of car the customer was driving. It was a red Premium that looked to be maybe 2008 model. "I don't see why a beauty like this would break down on him, anyway. These Yanks take a lot of things for granted ya know but we can still get ourselves a slice of the pie!"

Mohammad walked into the room out of one of the offices. "Rory! Good to see you my friend! So he has finally let the dog out of the cage, eh? Maybe now, I show you how real players roll in America! Trust me, my friend, after years in prison, plus a boat ride over here, you're in need of some pussy, my friend! You are way overdue!"

Rory was amused as he gave his friend and brother a quick hug. "All right Mohammad, ol boyo. If you're married, why would you be willing to go out there and screw other women? You should appreciate what you have. Many of us, well, okay, just me, we only have the struggle. No wife, no kids. You have both and no so does this scrawny loser!" He said, dragging his knuckle across John's scalp. John protested and cursed at him in Gailic.

Mohammad told him bluntly, "My friend, you ave not been married. You may have a case of blue balls that are unbearable to any man but you are still technically a free man. I love my wife with everything I have. She is the mother of my children but think about how it would be to sleep with one woman for the rest of your life? It is not in our nature! Back in Muslim countries men take several wives!"

With a smirk Rory decided to call him on his bullshit. "Right but I suppose there is no such luxury for women? As much as i love our brothers to the east, Mo, I don't know about the way Islam treats women. That's no disrespect intended, I'm only saying," Mohammad laughed and said, "I take my religion as seriously as this joker does!" He said referring to John.

He corrected himself. "The truth is, I do love God and I try to be a good Muslim but just because one wife is good enough for these beta males here in America does not mean it is good enough for men such as myself!" Rory told him, "Well you know I'm not a Christian anymore right? I put my faith away."

John seemed shocked by this. "Are you kidding me? What would your Da say?" He told him quickly, "Leave him out of this, John, boy. My da is dead. He wouldn't say a fucking thing."

Rory then sighed and said, "My point is, Mo, I would settle for just even one woman to sleep in bed with to not have to be alone at night. So even if you only fucked your wife, that would still be more than what I have. As for having multiple wives, even if that is a custom of yours, it isn't like those broads you supposedly fuck are your wives. Maybe if you married a few, you would be taken more seriously."

Just then, the roar of motorcycles greeted them from outside. Mohammad was nervous and he had a pistol just in case. "Is that who I think it is?" He asked, his dark eyes full of fear. John shook his head, "Don't know, man! Why id you bring a piece here? This is my workplace. What if my parole officer comes in?"

Mohammad looked annoyed, "Are you kidding me, John? I'm watching out for your ass! You have a chill enough schedule that I can come by and see a brother in arms. Those assholes tried to kill the three of us last time," Rory peeked out of the window.

He said, "I can't say for sure but I don't think they're the same club that went after us before or at the very least not the same men," John came and looked too and said, "Oh those are me mates! We rode together out here! Let me give you the short version, Rory. When I first came here from Liberty City it was hard to let go of the club so I got to ride with the original Angels over here. In biker terms, we call that a nomad. These boys are on my side! Only thing is, I've finally put my outlaw days behind me."

Rory rolled his eyes as he didn't believe him. Was he honestly the only one of the three being honest about his own nature? They went outside to greet the bikers and Mohammad muttered, "Not these assholes again," Which made Rory a bit curious. A Caucasian male with what looked like a blonde 80's Rock & Roll mullet approached John. "Well if it isn't my favorite brother from across the pond. From Liberty no less. I hear ya ran into a little trouble the other day."

One of the other bikers, a man with a shaved head and a mustache and sunglasses, nodded, "Yeah, heard you ran into some Gapers the other day," The man with the blonde hair said, "So we've come by to make sure you're still with us because it seems like these guys want you dead. Then again, I hear you were thinking of retiring, is that it? Well the Raiders aint gonna let that happen."

A man with curly brown hair, and tattooed arms who was obese chimed in, "Yeah, Johnny. Are you turning your back on the club?" John told him, "It was never about me turning my back on the club, Meaty, it's just that these days with me wife and kid I was looking to lean straight these days."

The blonde man got close to him and said, "You're gonna lean whichever way we need you to, bub. Is that understood?" Mohammad defended John by saying, "Hey, angry man! You heard what he said now why don't you get out of here?" Henry sneered and said, "What did you say, amigo? I don't speak Arabic."

The curly haired guy, Meaty said, "Yeah, fuck off turban cowboy!This don't concern you! Americans only!"Rory stepped up to the man and said, "Listen, I understand you have some history with me brother here but the other day when the Raiders attacked it was me who backed him up. Not any Angels. I don't even believe in angels for fucks sake. You don't have to be hard asses do ya? The man's trying to go straight and narrow."

The blonde man sized Rory up. "I'd heard John had some out of towner here to back him up. Another IRA boy, huh? Well you're a long way from the Troubles my friend. This is America and we have different laws here. There's the law of Johnny Law and then there's the laws of the streets. Your brother here has never obeyed the laws of society and neither have I. But that puts him under my jurisdiction. And since I don't see any patch on you, I'd say that makes you an outsider trying to weasel in on Angels business. So kindly fuck off while we talk to your brother here. He's our brother too."

Meaty nodded, "Yeah! And take your camel jockey with you!" Mohammad shot back, "Hey, mangina! Why don't you get your fat ass off that bike and come say that to my face? I am not scared of you homo queers in leather chaps. Maybe that is also why your club was founded in San Fierro, eh, tough guy?" Rory laughed as after all this time, Mohammad spoke English well enough to communicate but the way he dished out insults were always so humorous to him. That part, he had not quite mastered.

Meaty started to say something else but the leader said, "Meaty, shut the fuck up. You aint the brains of the operation here, I am. Just sit there and shut up. Respect the chain of command., Johnny boy, I suggest you keep your Arab in line my friend. See, I don't mind somebody tossing some insults my way but when a man refers to me or my club as faggots, that's crossing the line,"

Meaty apologized to the biker saying, "I'm sorry...Henry. Won't happen again..."Henry then turned back to John. "Bottom line, you want to walk away, turn your cut in, that's fine. But is that what you really want to do? You wouldn't just have to turn in the patch. You'd have to black out every A.O.D. tattoo you have on your body. People who don't do that have the option of fire or knife but you, Johnny boy, I know you're smart enough to black it out but would you be able to live with yourself? That's years of your life. Correct me if I'm wrong because you used to ride with my brother out in Liberty City but you were a AOD member since at least 98' right? You want to throw away all that history?"

John sighed. "Look, I know what you are getting at, friend and you have a point. But I got a wife and children to think of. What am I supposed to do about that? I can't very well father my kids and be a good husband to my wife and put food on the table if they scrape me off the high way now can I? That's why I took this job at this place. I've always been good with vehicles. Both fixing cars and bikes. I'm not saying I wouldn't still have drinks with youse. I just can't do the outlaw thing for much longer."

Henry crossed his arms. His blue eyes had a piercing stare. "Well let's think about that for a minute there chief. It'd be one thing if you'd been going straight your whole life. Then it'd be nothing to live some mundane boring life. But you aint cut out for that, John. We both know it. You've been in the struggle in your own country and you rode over ten years in LC plus two with us here as a Nomad. When you've had that freedom, that adrenaline, you can't just go back to the civilian life. I mean you may do it but you can't. It will drive you up the fucking walls."

Rory didn't know what to make of this guy. He was the President of the San Fierro charter. His very presence commanded respect and authority but at the same time he couldn't tell if he was meaning to threaten his family or if he was genuinely concerned for John. "Remember, Simon? He tried to go straight. His parole officer got him a job with construction but his boss was a prick, his wife was always nagging him. One day he finally just said fuck it and blew his own brains out. Civilian life drives men like us crazy."

He then looked at Rory, then Mohammad and then back at John. "Look, just consider what I'm saying friend. Even if you do try to retire, the Raiders will still want your head on a plate and even we won't be able to do anything about it. The cops either. I mean we could try to even after you gave up your colors but it'd be much harder to keep tabs on a guy who don't come around. Suppose we had to do a run across the state and the Raiders come at you here or at your house? What then?"

He headed back to his bike and said, "We're having a meeting out at the club tonight. Try to decide what to do about those goddamn Raiders. I suggest you be there. I mean they hate all of us but they no better than to fuck with me when I'm alone. They've had chances and didn't. You I can't say the same for. Will your 'brother' always be there when the Raiders come? Matter of fact, why don't you bring him along? He can't be at the table or around for any votes but he can see what we're about. Bring him as a Hang-Along," He beckoned to Rory.

"They're gonna be after your ass too. You don't just assault some Raiders and expect no retaliation. This ain their turf though. Their stronghold is Las Venturas, this is ours and we run most of San Andreas as the dominant MC but our L.S. charter is fighting theirs for who controls the highways around L.S. This may not be their turf either but it doesn't mean we don't challenge each other on hostile turf. And the way i see it, you challenged them."

Rory told him, "I can take care of my self," Henry just grinned putting his shades and helmet back on. "We'll see. John, you know where it is. If your friend gets his head out of his ass, take him with you. Hell you can even bring your mail order bride along with if you like," He said, referring to Mohammad. The cab driver flipped him off and said, "Fuck you. Go back to your homo queer butt fucking! Eat shit and die, mofo!"

This time, Henry just laughed and smirked at him saying, "Love you too, sweetie," With that, he made a smooching sound. The other Angels laughed as they all turned their bikes around to ride off. Rory grabbed John by the collar. "Who the fuck was that asshole and why are you letting him push you around ya idjiot?"

John removed his hands from his collar telling him, "That was Salvage Henry. One of the biggest scag barons in town. President of the Angels Of Death San Fierro Charter. What's worse is, he's half brothers with me ol' president back in Liberty. This guy named Buzz. Just as much of a bastard as he was."

Rory sighed. "Listen, me and Mo will help you get out of the club if you want and we'll have your back as much as we can against anybody that tries anything but for now, I think you should go to that meeting. Get an idea what those other twats are up to. What they might be planning," Mohammad nodded. "Yeah, you can always count on me, homie. We're road doggies. To hell with those biker queers!"

_Later That Day_

It was just before sundown and they were driving through the streets of San Fierro in the car Rory had stolen. They had decided to attend the meeting after all for the sake of strategic planning. John told Rory, "Listen, Mohammad knows this story already but you don't. I need to tell you some of what on back in Liberty. Some of the shite I did."

July 14, 2010

**They were on an ambush against the Lost M.C. John carried an H&K MP5 in hand. "Are you sure they're gonna be there, Buzz?" Buzz, a stocky bald headed Caucasian male long black hair laughed and said, "What are you deaf, man? Of course they'll be there! I'm not understanding why you're doubting me, pard. Have I ever been wrong?"**

**The gunfight had already started as a couple of prospects had taken out the three Losers guarding the door. Word was, many members of the old Alderney chapter which was still struggling to recover after having their clubhouse burned down plus the split in factions within the biker gang, were here at the Broker club house If this was true, a lot of them were going to die.**

**They entered the club house and came under fire. John took cover just outside one of the doors and used the door's swinging to provide himself with cover. "Fuck you! You Dead Beats don't belong here! This is our club!" John hit one of the Lost goons with rounds in the left shoulder, the right rib cage, and the stomach. The man was writhing on the floor while two others scrambled to cover discharging handgun rounds at the attacking bikers.**

**They advanced in the hall and an Angel with red hair and a red beard, and a tattoo that said Fuck The Lost on his neck, fired his pistol at the gangsters hiding around the corner. "We just wanted to come to the party! All these losers and we aint even invited?"**

**He hit a Loser of Dominican descent with five rounds in the stomach and one in the right collar bone. The other came out firing, a man with a sword fish haircut and he fired a Desert Eagle hitting the red haired man with a round in the chest. Buzz fired his shotgun and hit the Lost gang member in the thighs and in the waist with the pellets. The man cried out hitting the wall and he gave him a double dose blowing the top part of his skull off.**

**There wads a room to their right and they kicked it open. A man was nude having sex, his jacket was on a chair. A woman, also nude, cowered in fear. The man reached for his pistol in his jeans on the floor but John shot him in the back before he could. The woman screamed and tried to take his gun to avenge him but John knocked her out hitting her in the face with the gun. Buzz pulled the pin o two grenades and lobbed them down the hall. One exploded in the hall causing two Lost members to be killed, one from fire the other having his limbs blown off. The other grenade landed in a room where the Lost MC often went to play pool.**

**This killed another biker as well as one of the groupies sending her flying over the pool table with flames running down her slim legs. An overweight man with a receding hairline, emerged, carrying two pistols. He was the Lost MC's Treasurer in the Broker chapter. "Eat my lead shit you dead beat cocksuckers! You fucked up coming here!"**

**Five rounds hit John in the chest and Buzz asked him if he was all right. He fired back from the ground and hit the biker in the stomach with nine rounds and three in the left knee cap. The man fell over blood in his mouth and John got to his feet. "Aye! I'm okay! The Loser just got the vest thank Christ!"He aimed at the local rival's face and pulled the trigger. He emptied the magazine from the H&K into his face, hitting him in the chin and his goldish brown beard.**

**The rounds blew the lower part of his jaw off and several bloodied teeth were blown out as was part of the jaw bone. It was a sickening sight to see. An older black man looking to be in his fifties was firing an AK at them. They took cover in one of the rooms but some of the attacking Angels were caught in the rounds as they swept him up. Three Angels fell from the rounds and another was wounded. "You motherfuckers aint leaving here alive! You can bet your left nut on that!" Shouted the Loser.**

**The wounded Angel still alive shouted, "Go to hell you liberal shit!" He aimed at him but the Lost MC thug shot him first, taking his hand off with AK rounds and finished him with lead in the right temple. "You've got some nerve coming over here like this!You want a war we'll be more than happy to give you one! Show you what Losers we can really be!"**

**Buzz reloaded his Spas 12 and called to John, "Johnny boy, you see that jig in the hall? That's Clay Simmons. He's part of the Alderney chapter. Him and that cocksucker Johnny K. Sorry to say you share the same name as that faggot. Anyway, both of those fucks have done a lot of damage to us. I want you to take Clay out and then we're gonna see if their president is here."  
**

**Clay fired after having reloaded, just as John was going to move on him. "I heard that you spineless son of a bitch! You're barking up the wrong tree! Johnny aint here! But I can see one president is and if I drop you I'll get respect from both chapters! Maybe move up a notch!"John blindly fired from cover and they heard Clay cry out. "Fuck! Angus, they shot me! Get the hell out of here! I'll keep these Beats from getting any further you just get the hell out of here!"**

**Whoever Clay was talking to shouted something back that John couldn't hear. Whatever it was Clay was not thrilled about. "Aw come on, man you've got to be kidding me! Well go find Terry have him go get her!" Clay was wounded and limping trying to get his way back to cover. Two more Angels came at him firing pistols as they had come in through multiple directions but he managed to drop them killing both of them with head shots.  
**

**Finally, Buzz came around the corner and fired his shotgun and hit Clay in the abdomen, and the older Lost biker fell against the wall, his weapon hitting the ground. He was wounded fatally but not dead yet. John reloaded and Buzz kicked Clay's weapon out of reach. "Sorry you don't get any promotion and with that, both men fired on him, executing the road captain. Buzz grinned like the socio path he was. "Old motherfucker. That little prick wouldn't have had much longer to live anyway. Bet hi pecker stopped working years ago!"  
**

**Several more Angels who had AK-74's with grenade launchers mounted on them began clearing out the other Lost members with their superior weapons. One Lost gang member was crawling backwards, wounded, discharging his handgun like a madman trying to get away but caught automatic fire in the chest. They spotted the crippled Lost member, Angus. Buzz seemed more delighted and John shouted, "Come on, Buzz not him, man!" Buzz did not listen. Even from his chair the crippled gang members fired but he had not had practice in a while and the bullet hit the wall, hitting a framed picture of a deceased Lost member.**

**Buzz grinned and fired hitting the man in the chest and he fell over his chair tipped over. "Now your whole body is crippled, gimp. See ya in hell! Hope they give you better legs in the next life, hoss!" John, though he was at times ruthless himself, did not like to kill disabled people. "Aw Jesus fucking Christ, Buzz did you have to do that?!"**

**Buzz shouted back, "Hell yeah! Handling shit like a real man! That little weasel has caused the club more trouble than I can even begin to tell ya. He got in an accident some years back and couldn't walk let alone ride a bike ever again That's a living hell. I did that fucker a favor."**

**John was really starting to hate him. He had rode with him for years but it seemed he became more of a maniac. Too much of one. "It's wrong and you know it, Buzz!" Buzz shouted back as they advanced down the halls, "So you're okay with killing a goddamn senior citizen but not a cripple?"**

**John cursed, "You know bloody well the difference, Clay was able bodied and shooting at us! You could have just knocked him out like i did..." He didn't finish his sentence. He heard a scream of a woman somewhere. He ran to the sound of it. He wasn't sure but he had a feeling he knew. It was the same room he had shot a Loser in during sex. Three Angels were lined up at the door. One of them yelled, "Yee haw! Party time, boys!"**

**He ran forth and saw an overweight Angel originally from Dukes that looked like your stereotypical biker with a ZZ top beard. He said, "I'm Chuck. And I'm here to fuck," He unzipped his pants but John grabbed him and threw him against the wall.**

**The woman, a brunette, was nude and cowering in fear trying to get her clothes. She was pale and brunette and she looked like a junkie. Chuck got up and got in John's face. "What the fuck, are you a homosexual or what?!"**

**Buzz came in and said, "Well well well... what do we have here? Ashley fucking Butler. Ex girlfriend of Johnny the Jew. Isn't this a nice surprise? What seems to be the problem, Sulli?" He asked John. John told him, "Shooting Losers is one thing but rape is low! There's no fucking way I'm letting that happen!" Buzsz grinned looking at her. "Hell you know the rules! To the victor the spoils! Looks like she's already spoiled..."**

**This got laughter from the other Angels. John gritted his teeth. "It aint happening!If you want to do something shoot her but don't fucking rape a woman just because her boyfriend is the president of the Lost M.C.!" Buzz removed his pistol and handed it to him. "Well do it then, John boy. Show Johnny K who the better John is! Leave him a message decorated in his girlfriend's brains!"**

**Ashley screamed, "You fucking assholes! When Johnny finds out about this he's gonna rip your dicks off! You better not touch me!" Buzz pistol whipped her and yelled, "Shut the fuck up! We'll get to you in a second..."**

**He then told John, "Come on, brother! Are you gonna do her? Either you do her your way or the brothers do her their way. Chuck here, he did fifteen years for the club. That's almost twenty years he aint had any hole. You gonna deny him some pussy? You make a suggestion, you'd better willing to do it yourself."**

**John thought about it. The truth was he didn't want to kill her but he damn sure couldn't let her be raped. Killing her even seemed wrong too just to piss off her ex. "Yeah, dude. Kill the bitch. Her ex is always saying how he doesn't care about her anymore. How it's over between them. Let's see if he was telling the truth. That actually interested me just as much as getting my dick wet!" Said Chuck.**

**John shook his head. "Let one of the prospects do it," Buzz pointed his shotgun and pumped it saying, "Let me put it another way, asshole. You're giving me a lot of unnecessary attitude and I don't like it. You don't question your brother, your leaders leadership. You don't question his authority so either you do her or I do you for insubordination. Normally we gotta vote on something like this but I don't think any of the brothers here would have a problem with it. To anybody not here we just tell em you got yourself shot by a Loser."**

**John thought of killing Buzz with the gun but he knew he wouldn't make it out alive if he did. He didn't know how badly the 'brothers' would rape her if they would but for all he knew, they'd rape her and kill her or rape her and leave her traumatized for life and it would still hurt Johnny. Either way it was horrible. So was killing her but he had to pick the lesser of two evils. He pulled the slide back and shakily said to the woman, "I'm sorry, lass."**

**He closed his eyes after aiming at her and pulled the trigger twice.**

As they listened to the story, Rory was disgusted. "Jesus...John I'm sorry, broham. I had no idea. So you moved here after that?" John nodded as they drove. "I couldn't be in the same room with the man again or I'd kill him. So I came out here. Moved me lady with me. She's stuck by my side always. Only thing is, I didn't know his half brother was president here. So I just ended up working for another prick."

Rory assured him, "I'm not gonna let these assholes control you, okay? I'll do what I can right now to help you even if it means taking down some Raiders. It may take a minute but we'll get you out of the life. I'm trying to myself. That's what we're here in America for, right? A fresh start."

Mohammad asked him, "Do you believe this will really happen, my friend? You can just get out of this life?" Rory exhaled. "Don't know, man. I'm sure as hell going to try. I don't know believe anybody ever gets a fresh start but for the sake of me family, what's left of it, and any chance at starting over, I'm going to have to try to believe that. Otherwise I should have stayed at that goddamn prison back in the Atlantic, let the Limeys keep me in captivity forever."

Rory swore to his stressed brother, "I'll get us a way out of this, boyo. I'll do it if it kills me. We're the three musketeers and we're all in one place again. To top it off we're all foreigners. We gotta watch out for each other just like we did back in the struggle."

* * *

_Ok people that's all for the second chapter hope you enjoyed the ride it will be more action packed in future chapters. So anyway first things first. Las Flores in this is meant to represent the Sureno gang known as Florencia 13. I edited it so that the Locs would wear purple and the bloods would be embodied by GSF but they'd wear green since Surenos and Nortenos had red and blue before Crips and bloods ever did. Las Flores was the name of a place in East Los Santos in SA too but it was spelled Los Flores which means the Flower but that is incorrect Spanish as The Flower is Las Flores, the feminine sound and anyway, when it should have representing Florence, it was based off Boyle Heights, a barrio in East. L.A._

_J Edgar is based off Hoover, the street the 74 Hoovers are from. Flauson ave is a word play on Flossing, IE, balling and Slauson, the home of the Rolling 60's crips. PJ Locs is based off of the PJ Watts Crips and Royal Courts is based on their hood, The Imperial Courts Housing Projects, the largest projects west of the Mississippi, that's what it says if you look that up. IDK i haven't been to every hood west of it but whatever..._

_Now, as for Moobies that is based off of Wendy's, the fat daughter turning to a cow references how the girl on the Wendy's sign used to be a little red headed kid then she got fat. The Triple dip is a spoof of the Frosty at Wendy's which in urban dictionary slang refers to having vaginal, anal and oral sex with a girl. IE, triple dip. (Remember fellas, never take a girl on vacation until she surrenders all her holes to you, wisdom from Tosh.0)_

_Run-A-Train is based on Subway and refers to the group sex._

_A Chicken Cluck is based on the spicy nuggets at Wendy's and also by U.D. It also means_

_You lube someone up, every crevice in their body. Afterwards you proceed to grab a deceased chicken and slap them repeatedly until climax is reached._

_Trippe__ Ripple refers to when a Fat chick's stomach folds over three times, and is a spoof of the triple stack at Wendy's._

_Burger Flop is a spoof on the Baconator refers to The act of slapping someones (male or female) breast in an upward motion, followed quickly by a downward slap of the same breast whilst saying "burger flop" timed in succession with the slaps. This is to be done as quick as possible in order to avoid being blocked._

_As for John I was thinking he'd be based on Daniel Day Lewis maybe. Mohammad asd himself by the way a lot of dialogue from him will be based off how he talked in GTA IV a combo of black street slang and Fob English._

_Which honestly, the homo queer and mangina part i got that from this nude celeb website called Celeb Jihad which claims to be the only website run by Islamic extremists but it's really just perpetuating stereotypes about Islam and is for trolling. They also have doctored pics of "Nude" celebs. A lot of Mohammad's shit talking will be based on what one Muslim troll, Abdullah The Butcher, says about other people such as homo queer and eat shit and die mofo, those are things he said but I figured they go hand in hand with Mohammad's failure at English and American shit talking._

_Oh, and the wigger Seth and Nilla dropped off is based on Channing Tatum, the customer at the shop John was working at was based on Messy Marv, a bay area rapper, and Salvage Henry the name comes from the movie Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas, he is visually inspired by Kiefer Southerland and Buzz is visually based on John Travolta. Oh and Angus, Ashley and Clay are all characters from Lost & Damned._

_Top Dollar is visually based on Micheal Wincott, who played the bad guy of the same name in The Crow. His girlfriend China Doll is visually inspired by Bai Ling, also in the Crow. Like I said also, Indio is visually based on Emilio Rivera who played Marcus Alvarez on Sons Of Anarchy, leader of the Mayans MC._

_Oh and that show Cubicle Sloths is based on Workaholics and that episode is based on the Acid Trip episode. Everything described pretty much did happen. Oh and just so you know puercos is another way to say pigs if you're a cholo. Oh and NW Wolves is both a reference to a segfment on The Tight End Zone in SA where a guy said he didn't vote but he'd kick your ass if you disrespect his sports team._

_The NW Wolves are based on the Washington Huskies who wear purple and despite being in southern Cali, is worn by many Grape Street members along with Lakers gear._

_So that settles it I'd like to hear feedback so let me know what you think on as much as you can! Sorry for typos!_

_N.G. 13_


	3. Kicking Ass And Taking Names

_K here goes chapter 3. If i think of anything to say before hand._

* * *

_Skennen_

_True Blue Aztecas_

It'd been a few days since Skennen had put that beat down on a member of the Locs. They had been expecting retaliation ever since. They had seen the same guys that had been there. Skennen was sitting in on a meeting with several other Las Flores Aztecas. "I don't know,"Said one gang member, a Mexican banger with a bald head and a mustache, wearing a pair of black dickies, and a white wife beater and some sunglasses said, "I mean I don't like those kind of vehicles myself but a lot of our gente are driving those so if we put a ban on the hood for that it screws over a lot of people."

Indio rationalized, "Why? Those Landstalkers and especially Cavalcades are gas guzzlers. They're also real prone to tipping over easily too. I remember some years back, a vato took a right turning off the freeway and he flipped his wheels. Not only did he roll his ride over the side and past the barricade but it rolled at least ten times before it stopped and he lost his life cause of that bullshit. Just think how much our gente would save if they didn't drive those pieces of shit?"

The bald gang member, whose nickname was Angel took a swig off a Cerveza Barracho. "How can you say that when you drive a Voodoo, homes? That's gas guzzling, right?" Indio shrugged. "Si but you know what, that's more true to our roots, bro. Besides, it maybe big but it doesn't tip over like those damn Cavalcades. Also, SUV's? Mas puto!"

Another gang member, a Chicano named Guero, with slicked back hair and a white T shirt plus blue jean shorts and knee high socks, said, "Yeah, they're cleary overcompensating for little dicks, that's for sure. I mean they could say the same about your low rider, Indio but at least that's classic shit, que no?"

Another gang banger, who wore a plaid checkered turquoise button up with just the top buttoned over a royal blue T shirt, brown khakis, and a pair of blue sneakers named Moreno, laughed and said, "Chale, bro. That aint what Im getting at but everyone and their mami says those bobosos have big chorizos. I'm not saying one way or the other but I heard different."

Indio snickered but pointed out, "Well that's just it. If you have to say you got a big dick, it probably isn't true. The same goes for if you have to say you get more hynas than anybody else. Anyway, that's not what we're talking about. The homies weren't able to see inside of their car because they had tinted windows. That's another thing , the tinted windows. They know they don't belong around here and if anyone spots them, the homies are on them like flies on caca."

He took a drink of his own bottle of the same beer as Angel was drinking. "We can't check them, make sure they're not somebody we got pedo with if we can't see them. So I say we ban SUV's in our varrio. Or at the very least put the word on the streets that if you drive a vehicle with windows like that, you'd better have them rolled down all the way from the start when you drive through Las Flores or otherwise, we take your ride. It is't even about doing a crime as far as that either. It's about making sure we keep our varrio safe both for you and for civilians."

There was a few female bangers with them too in the small crowded South Central house. One of the was a fairer skinned Chicana woman with light brown skin, deep brown eyes, brownish black hair and a curvy figure. Her name was Sadie but they called her Palomita. She was a younger chola. She nodded and said, "I agree with Indio. Better safe than sorry."

There was also Moreno's sister, Carla but she did not bang. She was pretty, with coconut colored dark hair, caramel colored skin, brown eyes, a sweet smile, a butt that was to die for and some nice tits as well. She was just a homegirl of the homies and lived in the neighborhood. She had a straight job herself.

Then there was Letty, another chola. She had wavy black hair just longer than her neck length. She was pretty but to most, they thought she was mean looking. The truth of it was, she'd just been hurt a lot in her life and it was a defense mechanism. She said, "Yeah, same here. We should just call no tinted windows on any vehicles at all though. That way, if an enemy is coming through they'll have to come loud cause they aren't gonna get the element of surprise."

Indio agreed with that and slapped hands with her the same as if she were a homeboy. "That's a good idea,Letty. We'll try it out. Learn from trial and error hopefully it works but if it doesn't at least we tried, right? We need to try and be the type of cliqua that looks out for their varrio like the old days. Show the people they don't need to fear us. None of us are perfect but I bet we can all run this place better than La Jura can."

They agreed upon it and the meeting was adjourned. They all stepped outside. Indio stepped up to Skennen and asked him, "So listen, you've proven yourself to me and I won't forget that. I mean that. But the homies, since you're staying here in the varrio, now you gotta show them what you're made of. If you aren't willing to do this, I'll understand."

Skennen though to himself _If it wasn't a must why even bring it up? Let's just call it what it is. _Indio added, "But, if you do live with me as a civilian, you'll need a job. Even in the ghetto we have rent and it aint always cheap. To roll with Los Aztecas would have its benefits as well as it's drawbacks. Ultimately it's up to you what you want to do."

Skennen sighed. "Where the hell am I going to get a job when I'm fresh out of town and I'm a wanted fugitive to boot, a fact that most people aren't aware of? How many snitches are there in this town?"

Indio answered as honestly as he could. "Look out here we try to mind our business as much as we can out here and people don't snitch around here but you might have one or two here and there that need to be taught a lesson. This isn't like Westland where all the gringos live though. Up there? Yeah, on the west side of L.S. they're a bunch of ratas."

Skennen swallowed and then said, "Fuck it. I've still got juevos, ese. Just, the last time I rolled with a gang I got fucked over. I don't want that to happen here."

Indio seemed insulted by this. "Look, I get that you've been through a lot before but right now, I'm the only one you've got in this city, hombre. If I was going to do anything to fuck you over, homes? I could have done it when we first met."

Skennen had to admit he was right. Some of the bad things associated with Coyotes was that many of them were dishonest and would rob you and kill you if you were a man. If a woman, he had heard, they made you wish you had been. It was just that ugly side to poverty that could bring out the worst in any nationality, any person of any religion, or whatever, if they were low enough on the financial food chain, they'd do anything to get your money even if it was just to feed their family or whoever for one more day only.

Indio could have wronged him but he had not. Just the fact that he had been honest on that front at least earned him the benefit of the doubt and a little bit of trust.

Skennen nodded. "Lo siento, carnal. I appreciate you keeping a truca for me. You're right. I'll do what I need to do. What do you need done?" Indio whistled and called, "Oye! Red! Get your fat ass over here, homes!" A man dressed in a denim blue jacket, blue, jeans and Charles Taylor shoes came over.

He was of mixed ancestry Afro Panamanian, a mix of black and indigenous however, since he spoke Spanish, though his skin was a reddish tint of brown and both lineages were evident his facial structure being Indigenous while his hair was wavy despite being long, almost to the point of being curly, most African Americans did not see him as the same due to the language they spoke being different. Plus his accent was not that of an American.

So he identified with his brown side and was a member of Las Flores ever since his folks and he were forced to move to the US when the US invaded Panama under the orders of Joe Lawton Sr. "Lobo, this is Panama Red. Panama, Red, Lobo. He's one of my best soldados. He'll know what to do. In short, Lobo, there's a lot of shit going down between us and the mayates. I don't know how it was back east but in the west things are different. We're not just at war with some black gangs, we're at war with all of them. And while this might be different from what you know, I expect tensions and conflicts like this will start to heat up back where you came from, and in Vice, all over the east coast. It's only a matter of time. Word gets around and so does bad blood."

The gang member nodded. "Our jefes up in the pinta, they control everything from inside on the streets. They even control and tax our enemies on the street, the Vagos. Mara 18.," PR explained to him. "The Vagos, we've had pedo with them for some time but when we go to the pen, we all operate under La Onda. the Mexican Mafia. That means all the street bullshit is cast aside. So at the end of the day, the Vagos are South Siders like us. Problem is, they're a cliqua so hung up on being autonomous and doing their own thing, not being as structured as other cliquas, that they forget that. In a war between black and brown, you pick your side and for the most part they've done that."

Indio followed up with an explanation. "The thing is, Lobo, they smash on the Groves because the Groves have had pedo with them for a long time. They started shooting first and now the Vagos are handing their asses to them. Same goes with the Locs or the Ballas whatever those fuckers want to call themselves. They did have an alliance with them before in the 90's based on mutual drug interest but when one of their revenues went down in flames, that all ended and anyway, beef on the street is like wildfire. Starts one place and spreads."

He added, "So the Bar Ho's have had no problem lighting up the biggest black gangs in the city. But when they found a gang that sort of just broke off from one of the two, even though they were supposed to be an enemy, they allied with them, because even though they're both on the wrong sides of the tracks, they respected each other because they're both gangs that are still technically something else. Mira, just go with Panama Red, and go out to the west side of South Central he'll explain everything. You've got two stops to make though."

They got into Panama Red's car, a brand new Cognesetti. "You drive, amigo. I gotta make a quick phone call. We got one small detour we need to make before we drop by Red Count or Idlewood. You mind driving us over to the Los Santos River just past the 6th street bridge?" Skennen marked it on the GPS and began to follow it's directions. As Red texted he told him, "We gotta meet a compa of mine. He has two sets of clothes we'll need. A pair for you and a pair for me."

As he drove Skennen asked, "So what's the plan? We're gonna need to ice somebody?" Panama Red shook his head as he texted. "No, amigo it aint that simple. See we gotta have the two gangs that have practically been sucking each other's dicks despite what's really going down on the streets, to start fighting. I mean the Vagos are South Siders like us too, even if many Aztecas hate them, they're still South Siders."

Skennen nodded. "So there's not much point in a war if you don't hate who you fight and love who you're fighting for is there? I've been in that same situation myself but I'm out if it now,"

Panama Red told him, "Well you can only stay outside of a war for so long. Like mi abuelo used to tell me, you can only sit on the fence and not take a side without getting impaled on the fence for so long!"

They arrived at the spot near the famous Los Santos river and got out. A Korean American dropped a bag and said, "Everything there like you guys asked. Have Ramon call me, okay?" Red got into the clothes and pulled out a pair of gear and handed it to Skennen. "Put these on, ese. We both need to suit up for what we need to do."

He put on the clothes, reluctantly. He wore a pair of black pants, that were baggy and stone washed, and a Steel City Miners jersey. It was a couple of sizes too small but he guessed that didn't matter. At least he hoped not. _I gotta lose some weight..._He admitted to himself. He had gained a significant amount of weight sine being back in the states. He was also given As well as the sports gear he was also given a brown bandanna which red instructed him to tie around his neck so that when he needed to, he could pull it up over his face.

He was also given a Steel City Renegades baseball cap which like the jersey was black and gold. As he got in the car, he demanded, "What's this for?" Red was now dressed in an orange sweater blue jeans, and had an orange bandanna around his neck. "You're dressed in Vago colors because you look more like a Cholo than I do."

He then explained, "We're going to try and stir up some shit between the two cliquas Indio was talking about. You're going to hit the 74th street guys. I'll be knocking off some Vagos dressed as a 74th street shooter. It may only stir up tensions between the two particular sets we hit today but it could cause bad blood all around between Vagos and 74th street. You never know. After all, when it comes to the streets, beef often has the domino effect."

Skennen began to drive them out to Red County first as they were going to hit up a Red county varrio that belonged to the Vagos, AKA Mara 18. "So how the hell is it that both gangs can be under La Onda's control if the Aztecas and the Vagos don't like each other, man?"

Panama Red said, "The Vagos and Aztecas may hate each other on the street but in the pen, that's considered street bullshit. At the end of the day when we get to prison, we're both from the South Side. To a member of the San Fierro Rifas, they're a North Side gang, there is no difference between Vagos and Aztecas. Or any other Los Santos based ganga. Sure on the streets they don't like each other but the Rifas are worse enemies. There was a war in the pen that broke out into the streets between Northern and Southern San Andreas. Then it went from the streets to nation wide. You've got people claiming it in other states too."

Skennen nodded. "I may have seen a few Azteca and Vago hit ups back in Liberty now that I think about it, on apartment walls," Red nodded. "See the thing to remember is we have to stand against the North Siders. Plus you got the BGA, that's the Black Guerrilla Army, and the Aryan Vanguard in the prisons. So we can't afford to have inner conflicts in the joint."

Skennen asked, "So why can't La Onda make sure there is no fighting on the streets just like the would on the inside?" Red explained, "You've gotta understand the big Jefes are under a lot of heat. A lot of our big homies are on 23 hour lock down. Security Housing Unit. SHU. They give that to anybody who's definitely in a prison gang. So while we want to have all the cliquas in L.S. stop fighting and just focus on mopping up the Grove Families and the Ballin Locs, right now we have to let the shit play out it's course. Over time I think every varrio can unite but for now it has to be understood there is decades of bad blood between many of them."

It was a long drive before they got to Red County. He turned the radio to Cholo Radio, the station that played exclusivity Chicano rap as well as some American Indian artists who were associated acts. Ever since the turn of the 21st century, Cholo rappers got no airplay on Radio Los Santos. Now bitch made new artists such as YG and Kendrick Lamar and Tyga. These levas were part of the reason Hip Hop sucked. What was more, they were the reason Radio Los Santos now sucked.

What had once been an air wave for gangster rap in the 90's was now taken over by mainstream rappers who were never about that life yet rapped about it anyway. There had once been a time when people rapped about shit besides making it rain and ho's. At one time rap was about telling a story.

Skennen admitted, back when he was growing up, he had wanted to be a rapper himself.

But it was unheard of for many reasons. He was not white or black, he was a Native American of Mexican and Mohawk ancestry and when he was coming up he had not yet heard of the likes of Litefoot. Sure, there was Kid Frost and other greats like that but they had grown up on the west coast. Sure, there were Puerto Rican rappers from the east coast that had been in it from the start was it was a bit different, they had started it on the east coast but Mexicans on the East coast, was not a thing especially in the formative years of Hip Hop.

This was not to say he couldn't have tried still to make it. After he listened to Litefoot, Kid Frost, Lil Rob, he had wanted to try even harder but when he had to flee Liberty to shake a murder rap that had all went out the window. Even so who was really going to listen to his shit even if he had made it? He had rapped a lot in middle school and high top it off, The Spanish Lords were not the same as gangs like the Ballas, Groves or Aztecas who had rappers.

To even get in on the rap game had not been done yet for the most part by Carcer City based gangs because they were so secretive that to even display handshakes or terms in videos was a no no. In fact some Spanish Ladies had gone on the Orca talk show and had bragged about being in the gang in the 80's and as a result several of them got hits put out on them for putting their hoods on blast like that. Skennen wondered if Orca would have let them on her show if she had known the consequences that became of the certain lower rank Lady members? Did she even care that some of them had died?

Though Skennen had wanted to rap in his earlier years, the thought of that was far gone now and all though at one time, he had rooted on any up and coming rappers that were making a name for themselves, hoping that at least one of them would have talent and spit some rhymes he would enjoy, he could no longer in good consciousness, force himself to give a shit whenever some new artist came out. They all had sucked ever since 2006. In the golden years of Hip Hop, even mainstream rap or what was mainstream, like Montell Jordan, did not suck. It was good.

Now, he knew better than to check out any up and coming artists. The majority of the mainstream ones were to his ears as sand was to eyes. Not even the beats were good anymore. The only thing even worth hearing now seemed to be underground rap. And cholo rap was so underground that even self proclaimed underground rappers and underground fans didn't know shit about it.

These vatos still told stories! When they rapped on gangster shit, they actually had strips in the streets from doing dirt something many rappers could not honestly say they had. Dr. dre, Snoop Dogg, Lil Wayne, all of these guys were studio banging wannabes and he knew it. The cholo rappers, however, had the stripes and the prison records to back their shit up. That, plus a lot of them were still on the streets even if they were making thousands of dollars.

The biggest misconception about rappers was that they were all millionaires. They had thousands at the most and many still lived in their neighborhoods in contrast to the big lame stream rappers who never set foot in their hoods again except maybe to help gentrify them as Jay Z had, but most were living in mansions with luxury cars and had forgotten their hood.

What had they given back to their hoods aside from "Shout outs"? So maybe that was the one way that mainstream was not bull shitting was the copious amounts of stupid shit they spent their money on but all the same it was not his cup of tea. Cholo rap, however was. He had not even heard that much of it until he reached the west coast.

This was due to Indio having been staying with him and he introduced him to the music he listened to in his down time. They were real gangsters and what you saw was what you got. They still lived in their hoods. Maybe, they would never be millionaires, maybe they would never win awards but at least he could listen to them and call it music

And when they wrote songs about sex, they didn't have to call a woman who was giving it up, a bitch or a ho. It was one thing to do it in one song but to do it in every other song? here was no longer any substance. So maybe Nas's statement of Hip Hop being dead was the understatement of the year. Maybe music in general was dead? He had not heard any good rock or metal since the early 2000's either.

Now, as Red put on the radio, he was relieved to hear Calling My Name by Chino Grande. Finally they arrived in Red County. He had always heard about the community and was surprised there could ever even be a gang problem in a place like it. He had seen a movie called Red County when he was little and it was probably the lamest fucking film he'd seen in a while.

He had back handed his friend for even suggesting it, back when he had lived in Broker. Now, here he was in the real thing. They passed through a very nice section of Red County but as they went through they started seeing gang tags as well. Maybe, some gangs intended to turn the suburbs into a hood?

Red instructed him to pull up to a street corner where some Mexican thugs were chilling out. They were dressed in similar clothing to what Skennen was wearing.

Red reached in the back and pulled out a Remington 1100. He pumped it and said, "This won't take long. Keep the engine running and be ready to floor it when I get in!" With that, the Azteca put the orange bandanna over most of his face. He got out approaching a group of about five people, four guys and a girl. The girl was dressed in cholo gear the same as the guys as many cholas had in the 90's and some still did. He yelled, "Seven four,Edgar motherfuckers! Bow down!" He fired and hit a Vago directly in the back and the rest of the shotgun pellet also hit his nearby friends. He pumped and fired again and screams were heard in every direction.

At least three were hit. As he fired a third shot all five bangers were on the sidewalk. At least two were dead and two others were wounded. The girl had her arm blown off and she was going into shock. A bald cholo of nineteen or so lay there bleeding from pellet wounds to the elbow, the left arm, and the small of his back and laid on his side writhing. Red kicked him trying to imitate the accent of your average black American from Ganton or Jefferson.

He shouted, "Look here! We aint rolling with you anymore! Red County aint a real hood! You want a real hood come to 80th and Montpelier! And that's real! ABK!" He got back into the car and shots began to ring out as members of the rival street gang saw what had happened and descended upon the pair in the car chasing after them and firing. Skennen floored it.

The 18th street Ese's started fired after them and one of them yelled, "Those motherfuckers are getting away! Let's get them! Vamanos!" Red had a Glock 18 as a sidearm as well which he used to fire two shots as they sped off just to cover them.

As they sped past several intersections, Skennen looked in the rear view mirror and saw a red Hermes chasing after them. The carload of gang members showered rounds upon the Cognesetti and Red yelled, "Lobo! Take a left at this next light homes! Rapido!" The Hermes almost crashed as they tried to keep up with the sharp turn that Skennen took.

They were quite a ways behind but were still firing after them. Pedestrians ran everywhere in streets and on sidewalks to get away from the drive-by. A white guy in a sweater vest was almost run over by Skennen and he shouted, "Aw cripes! I thought I left all the maniacs back in Beechwood City!"

A black woman in a business suit, possible a secretary at one of the buildings downtown shouted as she took cover on the ground as she had been always taught by her father to do growing up but it had seemed so long ago. "I moved to Idlewood to get away from people like this!" She shouted. Still, despite having been living in the suburbs for several years she had never forgotten her ghetto instinct.

Red returned fire at the Vagos hitting the passenger in the front seat with two rounds in the chest but surprisingly the guy was not dead. Only wounded. He also hit one of the guys in the back seat, grazing him in the face. They heard the sirens coming by in the area and Red told him, "Oe, Lobo! We need to shake these pigs and get a new cararcho! This one's probably got an APB on it!"

Skennen shouted to him, "And you didn't think that would happen?! What the fuck, man? Do you even think before you make a move?!" Red snapped, "Callete! Besides, we need a different set of wheels anyway or the Vagos and 74th Edgar's are going to know what we are trying to do and the plan will fail. Just hurry up and shake these guys!"

Skennen turned onto the first freeway entrance he could get to as he reached downtown. Three police cars were on them. Indeed, P.R. was right. The Vagos gang car had been pit maneuvered and police on foot approached the car with weapons drawn. Whichever of them were still alive were being arrested. Skennen observed this from above looking down from the bridge but he kept his eyes on the road.

The LSPD was screaming on their loudspeaker for them to pull over. Skennen ignored this. He pulled into the oncoming lane and shouted, "Hold on!" He drove in the opposite lane barreling over the median in the center. He swerved to miss all of the oncoming cars. Horns blared and cars hit the breaks to avoid crashing into him and a couple of cars got into fender benders in the process. The cops attempted to follow trying to get around the oncoming motorists. One car was completely destroyed and was hit by another car sending the squad car flipping through the air and spinning in mid air twice before crashing.

Red fired behind them and let off rounds at the cops following. He hit the passenger of one squad car with five rounds one hitting him in the right arm, and four going into the vest. All but one was protected by the vest. Even still, despite his wounds, he fired after them. "Lobo! Pull up alongside that rig! I'vre got an idea, homes!" He did as he was told and floored it up the street.

He went from 55 to 65 MP5. The car was alongside the rig which had several cars hooked on the back of it. Panama Red fired at as many of them as he could and sent the cars flying off the back of it. There were three more police cars that had been coming after them so it was fairly good timing. The cars flying off hit the squad cars totaling one as it flipped on its side in a crunch of glass and fiber glass. Virtually all the squad cars following them were destroyed by the cars that bombarded them. A truck hit another squad car, the one Red had shot and sent the cars spinning and rolling, the windows shattering as the pigs rolled.

The car went past the barrier and flew off the bridge and hit the ground below from the far drop from the bridge. None of the cars were after them. "Holy shit! Red, you're fucking insane! All those people!" Red just laughed as though it were no big deal. "They picked a wrong day to take the express lane, eh? Just remember one thing, Lobo. It's either them or you. Never let that leave your head."

As they pulled int a tunnel they got off at the next exit. They decided to dump it behind a large building an alley just off 7th street. P.R. changed back into his old clothes and Skennen changed into his gang attire. "Oye, we need some new wheels! Go get us a car and meet me back here!" Skennen nodded as he headed off but thought, _Yeah it isn't like you need the walk or anything, fat ass!_

Even though he was not in shape now himself as he had gained a lot of weight from the fast food, he did not plan to stay this way. He would find a gym. He doubted however, that Red had any problem with his own weight. That was the difference. He headed into the street stopping the first car he could find, a red Inferrnus. He opened the door and pulled the driver, a white lady with blonde hair and expensive earrings, wearing a black dress, looking like she came from some dinner party, out of the car. "This car sucks, lady! I'm doing you a favor!"

Though this was a nice car and many would literally kill for one, he wouldn't select this car even if he did have the money to get any kind of car he wanted. It just wasn't his style. Besides he always though the two seats always reflected the selfishness of rich people. He pulled the car around to where P.R. was who was waiting with the bag of clothes and the gear. He got in and told him, "Let's go down Central avenue along the main drag, homie! We'll head to 80th street, the same place we talked about."

Lobo followed his instructions driving toward Central avenue. He was starting to get the hang and feel of this city. As he drove south he noticed how rapidly the demographics changed. South Los Santos was majority Mexican along with other nationalities from the rest of the Americas. Even still there as a sizable black population in the city all though their numbers had dwindled since the 90's as many African Americans had moved back to the south, the very place where most of the blacks from South Los had originated from anyway.

Many had come after World War II to escape the segregation of the south and to find job opportunities, the majority of which were factory jobs. While the Brown Vs. The Board Of Education decisions had happened in the 50's, many of the African Americans who came west had heard that segregation in San Andreas supposedly was said to have been outlawed as early as 1948 in places like San Fierro. Though it had been in the books, it had not however, much to their dismay, bee the case. If it was no longer the official rule it then became the unwritten rule.

When many of the factories they had come to work in were closed down in the 1970's this led to further unemployment and more disenfranchised youth. Many of them joined the newly formed gangs of the Ballas or the Orange Grove Families. The first black gang to sprout up was the Locs. They had always been called that but by the 80's as many were in the dope gang they saw themselves as Ballas, high rollers and began to refer to themselves as such. Still, they always called each other Loc.

That meant Love Of Criminal according to their OG's and founding members. The gang had started in 1969 and many of the black gangs that had existed before that absorbed into their gang. Many of the black gang youth of the 1960's had formed clubs to band together against white attacks. Ganton for example, was majority white in the first half of the 1960's. The demographic changes shown during the "White flight" was evident in many of the class photographs of 1966, 67' 68' at Ganton High School as more and more blacks came from the rest of South Central to live in the more affluent middle class Jewish community as segregation finally began to die off as far as the laws and the norm was concerned.

Three years later, gangs that were not Ballas, banded together and wore green rather than purple. They called themselves the groves based on their original hood. Later, other sets and neighborhoods were started and they became known as the Orange Grove Families. That was their umbrella name but what family hood you were from you named your set after which neighborhood you came from. The first kinds of Ballas had once been part of a black South Central gang club called the Flausons. Named after their hood, as many of the new black migrants had moved into the west side of South Central in the 60's as the white flight had not fully taken off till the end of the 60's.

They had managed to beat back most of the racist white gang clubs that had attacked them before they ever were the Ballas. Just as the Flausons they had beat them the honorable way. In street brawls, hand to hand combat they had proved they would not stand for seeing their own get jumped anymore. When the Ballas had started the Flausons would later become known as the Rollin Heights Ballas. When the Family sets started sprouting up, they had a new enemy. They began having street brawls and park rumbles with them too.

Though many knew by the 90's that the Groves hoods, at least those from Grove Street were more honorable than the Ballas, in the early days in 1975, it had just been three years of one on one fights, jumpings, rumbles, brawls and even a couple of free for alls with baseball bats, clubs, knives, chains, and all kinds of creative things. Rarely was anybody killed. Even rarer was the use of guns. The closest people did have especially lower income gang members, was a zip gun. However in 1975, a single Grove gang member from Idlewood was angry that in a ten on ten rumble in a park the Ballas had won and him and his homies took a beating.

So a few days later, the young man of about sixteen years old, stole his father's .38 Revolver from his bedroom and went after two Ballas he had seen at the fight when it had gone down. He had squeezed off the piece until nothing remained and one Baller was dead while the other was put in the hospital and would only have 60% of his former mobility. After that one isolated incident, all bets were off. Gone were the days of hand to hand combat. The Groves had fired the first shots so the Ballas had to retaliate. When one of the first Ballas decided to go shoot some Groves in retaliation for it, his little sister had begged him not to go. He reasoned, "They started it, well I'm gonna finish it."

Most of the blacks who did live in South L.S. did not live in Idlewood which was considered the West Side, until the 60's. But they had lived in Jefferson which was now known as Watson, ever since they had came to the city in the 1940's. Though many blacks had moved out of the city to the south or had moved to the community of Springdale north of L.S. South Los Santos was still regarded as the largest black community west of the Mississippi even if figures from recent demographics showed otherwise. North Holland, back in Liberty City, was still seen in the same regards no matter how much gentrification had happened to the neighborhood enclave.

As for the Mexicans and other nationalities from south of the border, they were the majority and all though the official "History" which Skennen regarded as His Story, said that Mexicans had not lived in Los Santos before 1910 when the Mexican civil war had broken out. This was far from true. Though many of those people had come up and established the farming communities in Watson, formerly known as Jefferson, the truth was this state ha been their land long before this. Of course they could be portrayed as immigrants on their homeland!

If the history books were written by the victor, then the victors had wasted no time in rewriting the truth and changing up what actually happened into fables. Many of the Mexicans who migrated north were day laboorers and worked hard and long hours. They were treated like shit by Anglos and regarded as second class citizens. When the jobs became too hard and in some cases too scarce, many Mexican youths formed gangs of their own and had done so long before the original Locs or Grove Families were even an inch in their father's pants.

The White Gate barrio, the oldest Azteca cliqua in the city, had been around since 1925 and many other gangs had formed not long after 1943, the Zoot Suit Riots brought serious infamy to the cholo, turning the meaning of Cholo from an "Indian peasant" to a Mexican gang banger. But even the story of that was one sided. The reason why many of the gangs started fighting whites so hard was because they had attacked them during the riots. They had been white sailors attacking people for wearing Zoot Suits. Something they regarded as unpatriotic in war time.

Supposedly there had been a few African Americans and even a few Filipinos who were wearing zoot suits as well following the fashion trend of the cholo and many of them were also attacked but the majority of those attacked were pachucos, another word for cholo which was considered the word for it that had more pride and history in it. More dignity. The White Gate Varrio Aztecas had been among those fighting back against white sailors.

The majority of the damage taken was on the Mexican side. The most horrible kinds of things that went on was white sailors would gang up on a Mexican pachuco and hold him down while they ganged up on his woman and raped them while forcing him to watch as others beat and in some cases, killed them. This increased pre existing hostilities between Anglos and Mexicans.

The White Gate Aztecas fought against many of the white gangs and even white residents in the surrounding areas. Later, in the 50's the first prison gang, La Onda would be founded to protect themselves from both white and black inmates who had tried to punk Chicanos on the yard. Indio had filled in Skennen on a lot of the history of the city in the many days gone by since he'd first arrived in San Anreas and in the days since he had beat up that Loc from the projects.

As he looked out at the people, many, both black and brown, stared at them, probably figuring them for yuppies., based on the kind of car he was in. He rolled down the window letting them get a good look at him. No, not him. But what he had on.

He kept the bandanna over his face as he drove. That way, if anybody might have had initial thoughts about trying to make a move against them, they would see the rag over his face which would tell them two things. That he was affiliated, and more than likely armed. A black youth of about sixteen, possibly seventeen, wearing a red and black striped T shirt sat there smoking a spliff on the steps of his apartment. He blew smoke and muttered, "Mara 18...they're in for it when five o sees them in that thing though. No way they don't get pulled over!"

Skennen overheard him say this and thought, _Not if i have any say in that. _"Keep a trucha, homie! We're almost there. Try the gas station nearby. Lots of gang bangers there."

The gas station was just off Figueroa street but it was not really outside of their turf. It was just off the harbor freeway. They saw stitches of orange colors here and there. Red told Skennen, "Orale, stay on the street and hand me that Glock ese. Gotta reload it for ya," He reloaded it putting the new mag in and then handed it back. Just hit any of those punks but don't forget to yell out your cliqua!"

A black man in his early twenties was chilling in front of the 24/7. He had an orange bandanna around his neck. He had on a black T shirt, a brand new pair of Air Morgans from Pro Laps that were blue and orange, and baggy blue jean shorts. To top it off, he had a Liberty City Beavers hat on backwards. He slapped dap with another gang member who happened to be dressed in non gang colors. "What up, cuddy? Hey check that car out, bro! That's cleaner than a motherfucker but what are they doing around here?"

He alerted a few other members of the 44 street gang and they too, took notice. "Man he better be here to buy some cream or get the fuck on with that bullshit! Where you from, cuz? You're high signing with that ride, man! Bringing a lot of attention to yourself. What's cracking?"

There was even a couple of members pumping gas themselves, at least three of them who had been rolling in a Cavalcade. They looked to the gang members approaching. "Man, they probably just here to buy some party favors, ,fam Just let them be about their business."

One of them peered in saying, "Nah i think they're from 18. Hey why didn't you say so, g? Cause we..." He did not get to finish the sentence. He fired out of the window yelling, "Vagos 18!" He was surprised however when the gun gave a kick off on them. He hit one of the men. The guy who was not in gang colors. The rounds spit rapidly hitting him in the stomach and chest. The gang members reacted in surprise going for their own pistols.

He tried to get control of the kicking weapon so that he would be able to deal with them when they started firing but instead, unwillingly sprayed it in a line. He hit the SUV and he hit the gas pump.** KABLAM!**

The explosion was deafening as the tanks went up. It just so happened that not only had Lobo hit one of the 74th street thugs at the pump, he also hit his gas pump as it was dripping from the nozzle. The gang members at the pump were instantly burnt to a crisp and blown to pieces in ways that would take a forensic scientist a long time to piece them back. The gang member in the orange rag and black shirt had his left arm, right arm and left leg blown off and he was sent clear across the parking lot still on fire. He screamed as the flames peeled at his face.

Skennen yelled at Red, "You're insane! What did you do to the Glock? You did that shit on purpose!" He was glad they were still technically in the the street and not in the parking lot of the gas station. Red just laughed at the disfigured gang member as he rolled, screaming in pain. "Hey look on the bright side, homes! Orange is their favorite color, and he can finally get handicapped parking!"

Skennen floored it to get away. "What are you yelling at me for, Lobo? You should know a Glock 18 has semi auto and full spray!" Lobo screamed, "Yeah but I didn't think you'd switch up on me, jack ass! Jesus Christ! Estas loco? You trying to kill us cabron? That could bring the feds down on us over that shit!"

Red was casual about it. "Look, you wasted more of those fuckers than I thought you would. You should be happy about it! You went above and beyond for our varrio and probably fucked up their alliance."

His heart was pounding as he heard sirens and he sped away trying to get away from the area. "I'm just saying, that shit could have killed some innocent people back there, homes. That was irresponsible. I don't want to hurt civilians. In fact you did kill civilians yourself as far as the lumber truck and that was fucked up."

Red shook his head. "Like I told you, hombre. That's what you had to do to survive. Take it or leave it. We're alive, they're not. Who gives a shit? If they aint Aztecas, to hell with them!" Skennen liked Indio but one thing was for sure, from what he had seen of Panama Red he did not like. He hoped the other Aztecas would not be reckless assholes.

Skennen parked behind a rec center in Idlewood as the cops raced on by. He took a second to get changed back into his regular clothes and they both left their gang attire in the car. They were leaving the car and as soon as they were outside of it, Red put a rag in the gas tank of the car and lit it on fire. He knew what he was about to do. He had done this many times himself when he had worked with the Cartel back in Mexico. They had about a minute maybe less than that to get the fuck out of hauled ass and got out of there.

Before they split up, Panama Red told him, "Mira, i know what happened today gets tu corazon pumping but that's part of the job, que no? Anyway, here go get your mind off of it. On me, all right?" He gave him a wad of cash adding up $300. "Get drunk, get high, get some comida, do whatever you gotta do to get your mind off of it. Then come back to the varrio. You're a little shaken up but I'll put in a good word for you, okay?"

Three Days Later

He had gotten to know some of the other gang members or at least had a few conversations with them. He had told them the kind of shit he had been up to in Mexico and what his life had been but he had not told them about what all he had done to get wanted by the cops before he went to Mexico. Indio had warned him not to say anything about that.

The gang member known as Angel asked him, "So Lobo, we need to ask you something. You've been living in the varrio and that's fine people don't gotta bang to live here but you've also been doing some dirt for us too. That's cool and all but we need more than just esquinas around here you know? We can help you out with feria and whatever you need and I'm cool with having you roll with us even if you don't wear the blue but we'd all feel more comfortable about it."

The girl known as Letty said, "Si mon, Lobo. We got your back. We just want to see what you're about. I mean do you want to be on the field or on the sideline? I could tell you you should do otherwise but honestly it'd be good to have an army behind you. Especially with what you've done so far. People are going to want payback."

Indio sighed, looking stressed out. "You want my advice, carnal? I'd say don't do it. Look, you'll always have a place to stay as far as I'm concerned. That's fine by me and it's cool if you don't want to represent the Southside Aztecas but at the same time, if you're gonna stay, you'll need to find a job. As an Azteca, you'd put forth feria for rent when you have it, it has its own benefits but it has drawbacks too. You'd actually have more people wanting you dead than you do now."

Skennen could see he didn't want to even be saying what he was. "Look, I'd even let you do more dirt, hit licks, whatever, but the amount of times you'd be able to do that if you aint an Azteca would be split in half. I mean yeah we got esquinas backing us up and we appreciate it but they aint official. I'd also like to say that nobody ever snitches but every now and then somebody of our own can be informants but they're easier to deal with and they don't get far. An esquina, if the feds flipped them they can just disappear and many of us would be none the wiser. The point is, the homies would feel better about it if you were an Azteca. Nobody is saying you're a rata but just with the risk that anybody could be, they'd feel better about if if you were Azteca. With an esquina, it'd be harder to narrow down where as with a homie you could know who knew what. Basically they're harder to keep tabs on."

He then said, "Look, mano I don't want to put your back against a wall but the homies, my soldados, I have to listen to them to be fair. A good leader listens to his advisers and they're pressuring me to make you decide what you're gonna do. Now like I said, you can stay in the hood, just get a job, I'll still watch your back if you're crashing with me, but the rest of the homies don't have obligation to unless i call on them to. But they're right you know? We gotta keep it tight around here. So...what do you want to do? You want to get jumped into the cliqua? Or do you want to stay on the straight and narrow?"

He gave him an I-Care look and said, "Look bro, you don't know a lot of these vatos so if you don't want to rush into a decision like this, I'll understand. I mean a lot of us, like myself I got no choice, carnal. I'm a felon. Two time felon. I got no chance to do anything else with my life. I'm in my thirties but you're young. You still have a chance. I actually would encourage the straight life more. If i had the choice I would myself."

Moreno nodded and said, "You know, Indio does make a good point but I'm with Letty on this, homes. What have you got to lose? You're living in a war zone right now, you said yourself you rolled with the Zapatistas before so you're no stranger to combat. Plus if the Vagos and the 74 putos get wind of what went on they'll come for you and you already know the pinche lobsters are on your ass over that beating you tossed on one of their guys."

Angel added, "But once you're in, ese, you're init for life. Serio, hermano. Don't take it lightly. There aint no being an ex banger. That shit doesn't fly in Las Flores. Not now not ever. This is for life. Por vida. I've been down since i was a pee wee and I'll always be down. As for my kids being in it, that's an entirely different story but me personally I'm Azteca till I drop. My kids, never, I'd kil anybody that tries to get them involved. So that's why I'll make sure they keep their asses in school but sabes que? I'm a vato loco and I don't fuck around. I can't be some clock puncher!"

Palomita, the soft eyed chola told him, "I say chale. We shouldn't force him to do anything so early on. I mean he could be an esquina and still be trustworthy he's from Mexico! Lobo, you should listen to Indio. I'll have your back too. I got a good vibe about you. Call it women's intuition. I've lost a lot of homeboys and homegirls to this life. Es la vida loca. Like the song."

Indio nodded in agreement with the chola. "No future in it, vato!" Skennen thought to himself what he would do. On one hand, the idea of just paying rent like a normal room mate seemed logical and Indio said he would back him up but then if he was to leave the house, he would have to worry if any shooters rolled up on him. Just from what he had already done so far without having any affiliations here.

He would of course have to do that anyway if he became an Azteca but at least if he did he would have a whole gang to back him up which would at least lighten some of his worries. He knew all about the risks of gang banging. He had been shot at plenty back in Liberty City, even more in Mexico both as a cartel goon and later as a Zapatista. He was no stranger to gun play but at the same time, many people had died. Then again, he felt a certain genuine feeling of brotherhood as far as Indio was concerned. He had not gotten this vibe back when he joined the Lords back in High School in Liberty.

He did not even remember whey he had even joined them back then. It wan't based on any carnalismo. It was just because he had thought it would be cool to do like the rapers in the video. _Pinche hip hop strikes again...dios mio..._.he had gotten to know some of the stoners he had chilled with during breaks between periods who had been Lords just like Manny Escuela. He had joined up just to be down. he had seen that they got a lot of feria and they always had females crowding around them and he was just a kid in discount clothing in the ghetto. He wanted that shit too.

But the Lords had been scandalous and had down the line shown they were. They had even been told most of them that a Lords worst enemy was another Lord. A friend makes the worst enemy because he knows all your secrets. He had not gotten any carnalismo vibe or any good vibes at all when he got jumped in back in High School. He had only gotten bad vibes but like an idiot had ignored them and as a result some of the Lords and Lady's he had actually been cool with got shot, a few times by bullets that had been intended for him, at the hands of M.O.B. gang members from the Firefly projects.

Which was not to say he did not feel bad vibes here and now but he also got good vibes too. His jefita had always told him to trust his gut. ""Incluso si usted no es una mujer, y su intuición nunca será como la nuestra, debería escuchas," **(Even if you aren't a woman, and your intuition will never be like ours, you should still listen to it)**

She had joked at least as far as the gender reference but had been serious on trusting his instincts. He looked Indio dead in his eye, and said, "I appreciate you worrying about me Ramon, but I never had a future to begin with so fuck it," He looked at Palomita and then back at him, "Canonize me, captain!"

_Nilla_

_Pimp Like Me_

Nilla had arrived in a clothing store just off the Las Venturas strip. She was feeling like hell. What was supposed to be a drink or two with Seth had ended up being a shit load and they'd both gotten fucked up. She had never been that much of a drinker. It was not that she could not have gotten a drink back in the old country either had she been of age it just wasn't as big a deal in Africa as it was in the United States.

She had gotten drunk quite a bit back in Vice City but that had mostly been grief over her father's absence. Now, she had a pair of sunglasses on. While she had grown up in and loved the sun, and the Las Venturas sun was just as hot as it would have been back in Liberia, she was hung over so right now it was too much. Seth was probably still passed out back at the Hotel. She on the other hand, needed some new gear. She had selected out a few outfits. She purchased a purple blouse that was shoulder-less and had a V neck cut.

With that she bought some black jeans, as well as some new platform shoes, selecting a silver pair that was stylish but easy enough for her to walk in. Another outfit she selected was a black blouse with sparkles over the design, white pants, and shoes similar to what she had already bought only in a different color. Lastly, she bought a colorful blouse that reminded her of the African shirts back home, a gray bandanna, a pair of casual blue jeans, and a pair of feminine steel toed boots.

Many American women but style over tactical where as she was just the opposite but combined the two when she could. She brought her selections up the counter and a perky white lady, a blonde female in a black sweater and glasses smiled asking, "Hi, did you find everything you need okay, today?"

She nodded shyly saying, "Yes I think so. I will probably come back later on in the week," For those outfits her total came to $175. As she paid for it she thought, _Shit! I should have found a thrift store. Like maybe a binco._

Still, it felt good to be able to get some new clothes. She didn't want to be up this early at all but it was too late to turn back now. She got a call on her cell phone. She checked the ID. _Top dollar...__s_he answered, fighting the urge to vomit as she was still sick. "Hello?"

He greeted her. "Well good morning to you too, Nilla. Listen, you mind dropping by the Hotel right quick? I got another job for you. Something a little more hands on but I think you're perfectly capable especially if you ever worked for Tommy."

She cleared her throat and thought about it a moment. "Sure um...do you want me to bring Seth along?" He declined telling her, "No, that's okay, I have him handling a little job for me out in Bone County. He should be back later on tonight though. As you know, you're both couriers for me now. Some jobs I'll have you do together, some you can do on your own. Nothing to worry about. We just gt him overseeing a little business meeting. Nothing is going to go wrong but a man that size, it is a bit of extra insurance. They usually don't make em that big over here," He said with a laugh.

She was nervous but she said, "Okay, I'll be there shortly," She didn't know what it was. Top Dollar seemed nice enough but looks could be deceiving and so could acts. While she knew she could hold her own, she did still feel nervous about being alone with the guy. _You've just got jitters being new in town. It's nothing to get out of shape over._

He said, "That's what I like to hear. Of course, for convenience we'll arrange to get you a car to use."

With that she got off the phone.

She hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to the Hotel. She carried her clothes with her. As the cab driver drove her though town , the song Reggae Ambassador by Third World played on Kjah West. The music was relaxing and it reminded her of Vice City, the better days she'd had there. She looked out the window at the busy street life going on. There were magicians all over the place. She spotted a celebrity who she had seen on the telly as well as on the streets a few times back in Vice City. Lazlow was sitting on a park bench, and he was beckoning to a woman looking to be either in her late teens or early twenties.

The only thing about him was, for whatever reason, he was dressed up like Santa Clause pretending he was not Lazlow yet still interviewing for his Integrity radio show which had been relocated to the west coast. "You're not even the real Santa Clause! He's like, way older! And ten times fatter!" She had a stereotypical valley girl accent.

She was a skimpy dressed blonde dressed in what looked a school girl outfit with the mini skirt and all. He told her, "Yeah, but I can still make magic happen! Just like those assholes over there on the corner! Laz...I mean Santa can do as many tricks as those hacks can. Do you like magic tricks, little girl?"

The girl said, "I'm eighteen! I just taste eight! Anyway, what kind of magic tricks can you do?" He let out a forced attempt at a hearty belly laugh as one would expect Santa to. "Well, come sit on Santa's lap! He can do a very tricky...trick!"

She did as he asked and she rolled her eyes, "This is...weird...sol what was the trick?" He readjusted himself under her and said, "Feel that finger poking up your ass? Well look! No hands!" He held up both of his hands. Nilla turned away trying not to laugh. She didn't want to laugh as she felt like shit but somehow that whole scene had straightened her out a little bit. "What a buffoon," She muttered and the cabbie asked, "You say something, miss?" She shook her head. "No, not at all was just thinking out loud. Not to worry."

As the light turned green, to her surprise she saw the girl was smiling and whispering something to Lazlow. He wrote his cell phone number down on her ample cleavage. A cop walked up yelling, "Hey! You! In the Santa suit!" The radio host got up and ran but told her, "Be sure to call me! I'll show ya more no handed magic tricks!"She called back in a sincere yet very bimbo like tone, "Okay! Rock on!"

The cop chased after Lazlow who had his crew with him running alongside him. The cop yelled, "Get back here, asshole! The hell is wrong with you? There are kids around here!"Lazlow shouted back, "Dude, who gives a fuck? How do you think kids are made?I'd...be...a father...to many kids...if it wasn't for...plan b..."

The cop tackled him and cuffed him. "I'm a father, smart ass! And we adopted our kids so who's the genius now?" Lazlow laughed saying, "You're infertile? That is hilarious! What a load of crap! Everybody knows dads only adopt kids just so they can have sex with therm when they turn eighteen, anyway! I thought this was America?"

Just then the news came on. "_This is John Harris, Weazel News. In a normally quiet section of San Fierro, gunfire erupted near a local started out as a confrontation between members of the Khans biker gang and an unknown man started out as a fight but ended with gunshots being fired as the motorcycle cub chased the man in question and two unknown accomplices with him. Luckily, nobody was hut by any stray gunfire but one of the bikers was wounded as he crashed his bike. The San Fierro Police Department later arrested the biker whose name is being withheld , was told by the arresting officer that next time, he should wear a helmet and safety pads!_

The man went on to describe the man whom police wanted to bring in for questioning as there was a chance that the man was in danger. They described him as having an Irish accent. She thought to herself, _Guess I'm not the only immigrant having a hard time adjusting to this country. Poor bastard. Let's hope he doesn't get killed! I remember how the bikers in Vice City acted and it was nothing to be glorified. They were a bunch of methed out assholes that would too to the ends of the earth to get whoever they wanted dead._

She arrived at the Hotel soon after this and got out. She walked past the lobby and quickly signed in and then walked to the elevator to go up and see Top Dollar. She arrived at his room and knocked. The same bodyguard she had seen the last time she had been there opened the door. "How you doing, miss? The boss is right this way."

Though he was polite there was something very unsettling about the stone faced bodyguard. Really, the same went for Top Dollar as well and his girlfriend. She gave Nilla the creeps but for now, since as Seth had said, they were a couple of out of town foreigners, it was all they could do. _I wish I was back in Vice City. Or even better, Liberia. Yes, it was hard there but we tried to make it better and even when it's bad, at least people over there have the good sense to know we aren't living in paradise which is more than I can say for these people. Why did my parents have to die? Why did Tommy have to die? Why do I have to keep moving all over the bloody country?_

She took a silent breath and just remembered what Adnebesi had told her. To just think positive and look on the bright side. "Well, there's my new courier! How are you finding Las Venturas? Take in much of the sight seeing?"

She shook her head as she entered and Top Dollar was playing pool with a couple of his bodyguards who had set their Sub Machine Guns off to the side. "No," She answered him. "I haven't exactly had time to make a vacation of it. I don't exactly know my way around town either."

He shot a striped ball in. "Well, aint that a shame? Tell me something. Did good Ol Tommy ever show you a good time back in Vice? Did he work you to the bone? Remember that life is only deserved by people who enjoy it!" He waited for his man to shoot. His girlfriend, the woman known as China Doll was dressed in black, her hair looking like something out of an 80's movie with lot of hairspray and Big Hair Bands and she also wore a black lace top and black lipstick.

"So...I've got a couple of guys that need to do me a favor. We've got some...unfriendly competition out here. These boys who owe me, they owe big. And when they can't pay up, they have two options. Option A and option B. Option A is that they work their debt off for me. See, there's no financial debt I don't think can't be worked out. Even if it means their ass belongs to me another twenty years. If I can give you a piece of advice kid? Now that you're in America, don't get into debt. Especially out here. Worst city to get in debt. But, I'd see you having better money managing skills than a lot of these cock suckers. But still, you even if you ended up in a little jam I don't figure it'd be as big as a lot of these guys."

Nilla asked him, "Okay. Fair enough. But what is option B?" He smiled and shook his head and made a wag of his finger and made a tsk tsk. "You don't want to know, darling. Trust me on that. Real men and real women don't let themselves sink that low. So should you find yourself in debt at all in this fine state, the buck stops here, so always...always go for option A..."

He took a drink of some of his expensive Scotch, downing it. _That alone must cost $400 a bottle! We have a high roller here..._He sighed, "Ahhhhhh...that's good stuff. Now...seeing as these two boys that owe me money have a job to do and it so happens that you need a job, I'm going to send you on a little run. Take yourself a nice little drive out to West Venturas. Pick up a few of my boys waiting there for you. Here's the address."

China Doll got up from her spot on the table and walked over handing her a slip of paper. She had a peculiar look on her face, smiling as she handed Nilla the slip. She briefly held on tightly to the slip of paper and then let go. She exhaled for some strange reason, in a way that made it seem as though she had just has an orgasm. Nilla looked at her, weirded out by her strange behavior.

She looked directly into Nilla's eyes. _This woman is really giving me the creeps. What is her problem? _The Asian lady simply whispered, "Drive safely..." And licked her lips as though she were a porn star. Top Dollar seemed amused by this. He told her as she walked out, "Listen, one of the two guys is Ricky. That Ebonics speaking moron owes me about twenty large. As for the other guy, well let's just say he is an acquirer of certain needs for people in Las Venturas. He oversees the largest profession in the world."

Nilla corrected him, "You mean he's a pimp?" Top Dollar chuckled. "Not just any pimp. A pimp that owes me money but there's more to it than that. He's a good earner for what is our organization, a subject we can talk about later. His envelopes came up a few hundred short the last time payday came around. Now normally, a man like that would have to be placed in my options seat we discussed earlier. He's going to work off his debt as any smart man would."

Nilla asked, "So where I do come into all of this?" He explained, "It just so happens you need the job so I'm letting you go along. You go with these guys, you take out some of our rival competitors, put them out of commission. I will pay you for that. In fact you'd be the only one who would be getting paid. All those other assholes, are doing community service for what they owe."

Nilla asked him, "So let me just make sure I've got this right. You want me to murder some people simply because they are rival competitors in...whatever it is you do...?" He laughed at that as did a few of is guards. "It's not murder. Tommy should have explained the difference to you by now!Murder is the shedding of innocent blood. The bible actually doesn't say thou shall not kill it says though shall not MURDER. These men are not innocent. They're scum of the earth."

She was still curious. "Fair enough but I'll need a weapon," He snapped his finger and the bodyguard who had let her in went to open a cabinet. Behind it was a glass case of weapons, just about all the kinds she could think of. Pistols, shotguns, Assault Rifles, Machine Guns and a few Sniper Rifles. He selected a pistol for her to use, a .50 Desert Eagle. He put some ammunition in it as well which he got from a drawer below the cabinet. He walked up to the African courier and handed her the weapon. "You know how to handle one of these, right?"

She nodded. "Quite well, actually," He gave her two magazines for it. The cartridge was .357 "You got nine rounds. This isn't your typical street handgun you'd expect a two bit hustler to pack. This is better artillery than they can afford or even handle if they could afford it," The man had a very deep and booming voice. She hadn't realized that and maybe it was because he didn't talk much or at all as far as she had seen of him.

She took the weapon feeling the weight of it. She had only used one of these a few times. Once, to take out some Colombian drug mules Vercetti had marked for death, another time to shoot one of the major earners for the Vice City Tong who was still trying to overthrow Vercetti's Empire back in 06' and one other instance when she had to put a bullet in the head of a Haitian gang banger who had robbed several of Vercetti's couriers.

In both of the first two instances she'd used a .50 to to do the job. It had left a powerful impact on their targets and she had almost broken her damn arm trying to hang onto the thing. The third time, she'd used a .44 cartridge. In the third instance, the weapon had carried eight shots where as when she had carried out the its on the drug mules and the Triad, it had been a seven round capacity.

She walked out of the room tucking the weapon up under her shirt. As she left the suite, she saw a couple of high class women sitting in a chair outside and they laughed and a blonde lady who clearly had too much botox and a boob job whispered, "She must be one of Top Dollar's girls."

She angrily said, "No, that bastard couldn't afford me on his best day. You've probably entertained his willie more than I have," The girls scoffed saying, "Excuse me? Who do you think you are? I'll have you deported you bitch! My daddy is the owner of one of the top Hotels in this city and all across the country. I am Basdaq royalty!"

She grabbed the woman by the hair and threw her against the wall. The girl was bleeding, her nose leaking and her friend helped her up. She began weeping pathetically and Nilla left. She had lost her temper but she'd dealt with yuppie scum like her back when she first got to Vice City as well. Out here it was people from the Strip or from what she had heard, Vinewood too. Back there it was places like Ocean Beach and Starfish Island. They all looked at her like she didn't belong here.

_Maybe I don't! But it isn't like I've got much of a choice. I promised my mother I'd give it a try and I still need to find the man who killed my father. If anybody should be able to help me, it should be the guy who is going to run this state. If Top Dollar will, he'd better be willing to help the subjects of his empire if he wants people to be loyal. _She thought. Still, it made her angry. People like that had their fathers donating checks to her country all the time.

These Americans got all self righteous and patted themselves on the back when they sent checks to Africa or other third world places yet a lot of the people that needed it most never got to see that money. As she exited the place she went and found a 2001 white Sentinel parked out front. She busted the window and got in and began to try and hot wire it as fast as she could. The weapon felt heavy the way she had it so she took it out and set it beside her in the passenger seat.

She got the car hot wired despite the alarm going off. After fiddling more with it she got the alarm to stop. She was soon moving and she began to drive out to West Venturas. If she was going to have to drive with that loud mouth idiot Rick again, she would rather get it over with. As she drove, she kept an eye out for cops. She flt glass poking her ass as she had been in such a hurry she did not brush it off the seat. She would have to as soon s she had a second. She got onto the Julius Thruway to go to Las Venturas.

She turned the radio station on and put it to Radio Los Santos. The song Kush by Dr. Dre Snoop Dogg and Akon played. She had always liked Akon. He was born in the US but raised in the motherland. Sure, many argued that he was a sexist in some of the ways he dealt with women or treated them but she knew deep down he was good. It was just something about this land that corrupted people like them. Maybe everybody. She was no Rastafarian but in a way she could see why a lot of the Jamaicans back in Vice referred to the western hemisphere as Babylon.

The interesting thing was, what her father didn't teach her about American history, Tommy did. She learned the good and the bad. For a country that was pretty young it had a lot happen in it and as far as Africans like herself they had been in this country since 1619. The song ended almost as soon as it had started.

She arrived in the hood in a decent amount of time. She got out of the car and walked up to the place that was meant to be Rick's Or at least the apartment complex. There were a couple of men chilling on the corner like the last time she'd been there. "Hey what's up, mama? What's good with your fine self?" A mulatto with curly hair and blue eyes said to her looking at her ass. Another one, a bigger black man with skin as dark as hers, dressed in a black shirt, a gray jacket and a Liberty City Beavers hat said, "Man, shut up with your wannabe mac daddy ass."

He greeted her politely and asked, "How you doing sister? You lost? Looking for somebody around here?" She looked around and said, "A man named Rick. He's Caucasian, ind of scrawny," He nodded. "Yeah that's his crib over there. The place with the barbecue grill out front on the second floor apartment. Can't miss it."

She thanked him. "Thanks...brother," Though her father was African American, she had always felt akward around crowds that were. She got the feeling that many of them did not like Africans and maybe to an extent, Africans felt the same way back but her father, who was a wise man despite his flaws. Many Africans might say to a black man from America you are not African and a black man might say to an African you are not black but in both cases they were wrong. No matter how far removed they were, they were still African and Africans were still darker than African Americans so they had to be black!

It wasn't that she didn't share the same sentiments as her own father regarding blacks from the US relearning their culture. It was that she doubted if many would want to. If they could not find what their language was why not learn as many as possible? They all knew the slavery that had happened and knew where they were from before they were from here but why didn't they want to learn it? Even if the claim was that this was their home now, there were still Jews here who spoke Hebrew and Asian Americans born and raised in the US who spoke Chinese and Japanese.

The reason she was even giving that this much thought as she walked up to Rick's door to knock was because she had never in all her time in Vice, been called sister by her American counterparts. _Maybe Seth is right? Maybe things will be different here. _The man was not that bad looking. He was a bit on the heavy side but she knew all too well that in Africa, fat was the thing to be. You were considered wealthy and it was revered if you were fat especially a heavier woman.

However in the States, "Thin is in" for women and a man was expected to be in tip top shape. That was was the way it was. Rick answered the door looking half asleep and possibly stoned and hung over. "Mila? What are you doing here?" She corrected him. It's Nilla. And you owe Top Dollar some money. He spoke to you about this already. So you and I are going to go collect."

He sniffed saying, "So that's what this is? I'm in debt so he sends over a woman to come and kick my ass unless I get his bread? Is that how it is? Am I supposed to be scared now?" She told him, "No that isn't what this is but if I had to I believe I would easily be able to clean your clock. Now come on. Top Dollar said you'd know what we're supposed to do and who we're supposed to see."

He nodded. "Yeah give me five minutes. I know where we need to go. There's a few guinea lone sharks shaking down one of the businesses TD owns. Bunch of mafiosos living in the past. Thinking it's the 1970's. I'm surprised people bow down like a bitch to them and they don't even use guns half the time! Aight gimme five."

She waited downstairs in the car. After five minutes was up she had to honk the horn and he finally did come out fully dressed. He wore a gold and white Letterman's jacket and blue jeans and a LV Bandits hat on backwards. He got in the car. "Aight. So these guys are just off of Paridiso. This little mini mart called Zeke's groceries. The mafia's gonna be rolling by there in less than an hour."

She updated the GPS. "All right then. I guess we're going to the strip," She said. As they drove he asked her, "So how you handling Venturas? You like it here? Then again I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't."

She asked him, "What makes you say that?" He responded, "It just isn't the same for the ladies as it is for the fellas. I mean yeah we can get all that shit I was telling your boy Seth about last time but then it's like what's really in it for a woman? I mean it isn't like there are any decent guys out here."

She smirked saying, "I'll keep that in mind," He said, "Well shit you know what I mean. Honeys all want a relationship. Want a dude that's in shape, has a six pack, a fat money roll, is a good listener, is sensitive, has a good relationship with his moms and to top it off be able to dick you down right? There's guys like that all right ut they all got boyfriends."

Nilla rolled her eyes. "You can't honestly believe that? Even for an American that's a pretty big generalization," He shrugged. "It is what it is. I mean yeah there's nice guys out there but they couldn't fuck their way out of a wet paper bag. There's too kinds of men in the world, baby. Listen up cause you'd be smart to follow my advice. There's those of us who do have the looks, the cash, and the bods, but then you got the ones that are nice guys who listen well and consider your feelings and all that queer shit. Those men are from San Fierro. Me, I'm the first kinda guy. Hell I aint talked to my moms in what..twelve years?"

_Why am I not surprised?_ She sneered saying, "You? You must be joking. I figured you for the good listening type!," With sarcasm. He said, "Shit, bitch you know what I mean!" She looked at him and said, "The fuck did you say?"She was channeling her dad's temper and even terminology. Though he had been a man who had tried to have peace with his own kind before he was gunned down, he was still a ghetto boy. She showed him her Desert Eagle. "I'd be very careful what you say to me next."

He held up both hands saying, "Whoa whoa whoa, shorty chilax! I didn't mean bitch in an offensive way. I just mean it as a general term for women whose names I don't know," She shook her head at that. "But you do know my name. Honestly, if it isn't your gambling debts only it's your own stupidity keeping you from rising up in Top Dollar's organization."

He scoffed, "Stupid? Shit I aint dumb! You don't know me! I proved my bitch ass moms wrong. I got my GED and I'm making that paper. I aint no chump."

Nilla sighed saying, "Whatever can we just have silence for the rest of the ride? I have a headache."

They arrived where they were supposed to. They got out and went inside. "This is the spot, yes?" Asked Nilla. He nodded but as he knew she had a Desert Eagle, he warned her, "Don't pull any chrome out unless they do, aight? For now let's just see what the 411 be."

She scoffed, "Do you listen to yourself talk? You sound like a moron who dropped out of school in the 8th grade! Christ I'm from another country and English is a second language and I still speak it better than you!" He rolled his eyes. "That's cuz you're British, shawty. We aint all proper out here and shit."

She corrected him. "Liberian and how would I be British if English is a second language, moron?" He said, "Hell I dunno? You sound British!" She sighed. The truth was while her father was American and did speak English, most of the English she was around had a British sound to it because it was the English who brought the language to Africa in the first place. So even Africans who were born and raised in Liberia spoke as though they could have been from the UK. She could have explained this to Rick but he was too stupid to grasp such a concept.

They went inside and saw a Korean man behind the counter. "Yo! Top Dollar sent us. What's the problem?" The man complained, "I pay you guys protection to make sure nothing happen to my store! These Italians come here and mess up my store last time here and then they threaten to break my legs if I don't cooperate!"

Nilla told him, "We're here to help you with that. Which family was this?" He looked at her funny saying, "You? What you gonna do? Top Dolla running out of muscle he need to send pretty girl out?" She shook her head. "This is the twenty first century and I can hold my own as well as any man can. Don't underestimate me. Anyway, you didn't answer my question."

He told her, "They're the Gambetti Family, okay? They think they own entire city!" Nilla nodded. "Understood. We'll go and pretend to be customers until they get here. Just sit tight," Rick went to the magazine aisle and she pretended to be having a hard time deciding what kind of candy she wanted.

Just then the store bell rang and they both ducked down in the aisles as two large Italian men walked in. One appeared to be in his late twenties and wore a brown leather jacket over a light blue polar shirt and tan cargo pants. The other was in his thirties and wore a dark suit along with some black loafers. He was smoking cigar. "Okay there, hop sing. Time to pay up. You got our fuckin money or what?"

He held his hands up. "Business has been slow. People go to 2/7 not here! They're the ones with the better prices and best nudie magazines! I get you your money I just need more time!" The one in the brown leather shook his head and said, "You were given enough time already! You think we like having to come way across town to your pathetic little shop? Look at this fuckin place! You chumps can't call this a deli! You don't have any sandwiches or anything! If this is a deli I'm the pope but you were earned, pal..."

He left the store and appeared a minute later carrying a baseball bat. He swung the bat at the glass counter. "Guess we need to do some redecorating! Petie, go redecorate this fuck's stupid face! Maybe you can make him more handsome for the ladies, huh?" The other man did and went around the side of the counter and grabbed the already frightened man by the collar. "You were warned! You should have paid up!" He punched the man as the other swung the bat at other glass cases.

Rick stepped out and said "That's enough! Leave the poor bastard alone!" The guy with the suit said, "Excuse me, wonder bread? Are you talking to me? What are you gonna do about it ya pasty scrawny little prick? Get out of this store or w'll fuck you up to. This doesn't concern you!" The Sicilian warned.

Rick stood his ground and Nilla went by his side. "OH! And they got a broad to fight for them too! Why don't you try the 24/7 down the street, sweetheart? As this little cunt here said, better prices and better magazines. And I bet those Hindus pay their dues on time!" The Italian goon then threw the store clerk against a mostly broken case and he cut his face up a bit. Nilla walked up to the man and threw a punch. She sent him crashing against the wall knocking several cartons of cigarettes on himself. He got up and checked his lip to see it was bleeding.

"I can see you're gonna be trouble for me you little bitch! Maybe I need to teach you a lesson in manners! Lesson one, mind your fucking business and stay out of Gambetti's!" He swung on her, hitting her in the face back and continued to throw blows. She blocked two blows and shoved him back throwing three at him, two to the abdomen and one to the head. He head butted her and she staggered and he hit her again. The mafioso grabbed the African hired gun and threw her into a rack full of potato chips. Most of the ones in bags fell on the floor but the cans of Mustache Rides busted open and the neatly stacked chips became messy pieces.

The store clerk yelled, "I thought you two were here to help? They're fucking up my store!" Nilla and the mafia goon grappled on the ground. She drove her knee into his groin and he yelled in pain crying out, "You fucking bitch! I'll rip those fucking dread locks off your head you bald bitch! Nobody fucks with Gambetti business! Nobody!" He grabbed her by the hair and she screamed. To the Italian gangster's surprise her hair was natural, not extensions.

She had an even worse headache and that pissed her off so she decided to head butt him back. This caused his nose to bleed. "I've fought bastards like you back in Vice City! You're nobodies! You think I didn't encounter goombah assholes like you before?" She punched him with a hard left hook. She then pounced on him like a panther and began pounding his head head into the floor blow after blow. Suddenly she felt sharp pain from behind. First in her back and then her head.

The guy with the bat had hit her from behind. "How do you like that ya fuckin cunt? You like that? Don't feel so good getting smacked up side your head does it? Teach you a lesson!" He hit her again in the back. The mafia thug was about to hit her again in the face but an explosion of glass and malt liquor stopped him as Rick hit him over the head with a 40 ounce he had grabbed. He dropped to the floor in a thud, his head cracked open as well as cut from the glass.

Rick gave him a kick to the side. Meanwhile, Nilla was still fighting with the Italian on the floor. He had gotten the upper hand and despite bleeding from the lip, mouth and even the tongue he was still on top of her punching her now. "You think I'm gonna let you hit me? If I didn't let my ex wife do it why the fuck would I let some fob get the best of me? You and your friend are both screwed. You don't assault a made man!"

He reached into her blouse and she thought he was trying to cop a feel but he took her Desert Eagle from her. "Now say arrivaderci, bitch. You're about to meet Mother Mary in a minute," She did not wait for him to shoot. She bit him on the bit his left ear sinking her teeth in and bit it off and she spit it out. She took the gun from him and pistol whipped him until he was unconscious. They stood up.

She got to her feet and the store clerk said, "You two get out of here! I called 911! I cover for you! The cops on their way to take these guys to jail!" He gave her a pack of ice, a can of Spunk and a few pain pills. Nilla didn't need to be told twice. They went outside and as she headed outside she popped a few of them and downed it with the soda. She got in the car and so did Rick. She drove with one hand and held the ice on with the other. Rick asked her, "You okay? Shit you're bleeding."

She asked him, "Where?" As she drove him home. "On the back of your head. Here pull over, let me help you," She pulled over and he parted her hair. He had a red handkerchief and he wrapped up some ice in it and told her to hold it there. She began to drive again putting in D. "That dumb ass clerk should have given you a band aid or something since you took a hit to the head for his store."

She softly said, 'No, it's okay. I'm grateful for just this. I've been without anything before and been wounded so this is nothing. I just need to make sure I don't have a concussion. I'll probably drop by the hospital later on after I take you home and go and finish this other job I have to do for Top Dollar."

Rick seemed horrified by that. "Less than that? I'm from the hood and even we don't call that no little thing getting hit in the head with a bat. Where did you grow up at? That woman beating little beyotch could have killed you if he hit you wrong."

She said, "Didn't I tell you already?" He said, "Nah what I mean is, did you grow up in a war zone or some shit? I mean that's what you make it sound like. So you either grew up in a hood harder than mine but you don't got an American accent so that leaves where you came from."

She admitted. "Yes I did grow up in a war. My country had a civil war when I was growing up. Part of it was an internal political conflict but some of the war from Sierra Leone also spilled into our country. I was a rebel back home. Not because I wanted to or even because I believed in it but out of necessity. To survive. I came to Vice City a few years back and worked for a man out there. I got shot at and I got shot a few times out there but believe me it was not the first time."

He shook his head taking his hat off and scratched his head. "That's some heavy shit, girl. You're still young! Well anyway, I'm glad he didn't kill you. You bit his ear off. I'm a little worried about that cause the po po can track your DNA through your saliva. Did you know that?" _Do you think I'm an imbecile? I was defending myself. _She thought but simply said, "Of course."

Twenty two minutes after she arrived in his hood and dropped him off. He got out and said, "Appreciate you having my back. Sorry you got hit upside the head but like you said, aint no thang. But hey since you did bite that fools ear off I guess that makes you Iron Mike and he's Holy field, huh?" She smiled at the reference. She bid farewelll and drove off. She made a call to Top Dollar.

"It's done. We made sure the Gambetti's got the message. They won't be coming around there anymore and the clerk realizes that he only pays taxes to one person in town," Top Dollar seemed pleased. "I'm glad to hear that. Taxation without representation is truly an ugly thing. Did they give you a hard time?"

She said. "Yes, they did but we took care of them. Rick was a bit worried though. I had to bite one of their ears off. It was the heat of the moment," As soon as she said that she felt stupid. _Why did I just say that? If anybody was listening in on the phone I could be in a heap of trouble for that! _She thought angrily to herself. What was wrong with her? Had she been daydreaming the whole time she'd been in America? Had she forgotten the rules of the street?

Then again, maybe she had regressed to a more innocent time in Africa in her childhood. A violent free life. No civil war, no carrying out hits for Vercetti. He was surprisingly her surprise, Top Dollar said, "I wouldn't worry too much about that. I've got some cops on my payroll. I make one phone call and the forensics guys won't have the kind of evidence they need to find you. Then again, you don't have any dental records here do you?" He was smart. She did not.

It wasn't that she didn't take care of her teeth. She actually did brush and floss just like any American would but in some African countries due to lack of dentists, their teeth were in poor condition. She was not one of those people though. She had always taken care of herself in that regard and had never needed to visit a dentist here in the states. Her mother had always taught her your body is your temple and since her dad had worked with the right people she always had the right things to take care of her dental hygiene. She had never needed to visit any dentist which was the one way she actually had an advantage over most Americans.

"No I don't," He said, "Good. Just don't go biting anybody else. You should head on to that other job I need you to do and in the future, please be more discreet regarding what you say over the phone," She felt her face grow warm but she said, "I understand. It won't happen again."

He hung up and she set the phone down in the seat. Her next destination would be North Venturas. As she drove through intersection after intersection she thought of her late parents. She knew her father would not have been happy with what she had done to make a living back in Vice. It was probably pretty hypocritical when she thought about it since he'd been a member of the Locs since he was a teenager and had probably killed more people by age eighteen than she had under Tommy.

Still, she couldn't determine if it was truly hypocritical or if it was just a man who had learned the errors of his ways not wanting his daughter to follow the same steps. She figured he probably would have suspected her more if she'd been a boy of following his footsteps. It certainly didn't mean there weren't female gang bangers. Just the opposite was true. But usually when Africans joined African American gangs such as the Ballas or the Groves, it was usually males. Females from the motherland seldom if ever got involved in that life.

But the men who were fresh off the boat, were often tired of poverty, frustrated of their surroundings, saw the men in gangs with money and fancy Cavalcade's and women on their arms as the thing to be. The same as the black kids who had grown up in American ghettos from the start. The motivation was the same for them as it was for the youth who'd just arrived. Frankly she had always been surprised that Seth Adnebesi had not become a gang member himself.

From what she'd heard from the others at refugee camps he had been a leader of his own crew back in Nigeria before he'd come to the US. When it came to violence he was no stranger to it. He had no qualms with drugs either and he fit in well with African American as well as Caribbean crowds so she had been surprised that like her, he had still stayed a loner in Vice City. She had once asked him about it and he simply said he hated to be a follower. While it was true in a gang you did have to earn your keep, what was he now?

He was working for Top Dollar the same as she was. Then again, maybe it was all just a means to an end. Maybe he hoped to one day be in his place. Sometimes she wondered if he wanted to forget everything he had been through himself in Africa. Did he want to forget he'd ever lived there? Be just another immigrant that assimilated to American culture, as if their life in their original country was an entirely different person?

As she got further away from the sections of Venturas she recognized she saw the areas starting to get more ghetto. She spotted graffiti tags that said G Notes. Were they some kind of local gang? There'd been all kinds of gangs in Vice City. Some were local but many were national. Many gangs from the west coast and the midwest had spread to the east coast and the south and had gone national. Big time.

Men like Tommy Vercetti, had been the type to oversee all the gangs in the city or at least which ones went along with him. Those that did not he sent his men after them and almost always won. And whoever did not get on board with his empire, he would support their enemies. Finally, she pulled up to a seedy looking area where the place was supposed to be.

She was looking for a pimp named Chase. She spotted a man wearing a Los Santos Panics basketball jersey. He was African American but extremely light skinned and he stood tall at six foot two. The colors of his jersey made her wonder since they were purple and gold. The Ballas and Groves gang rivalry had spread to all over the country but she was not sure if he was a gang member. Top Dollar had just said he was a pimp not a gangster. Still, if he was wearing Baller colors in Venturas, and was spotted by a GSF member, he could be shot on sight.

Even if this was not Los Santos, still, Venturas, much like Vice, had gangs from there that had migrated. For now, he seemed to be hitting on two women, both of whom were African American. One was lighter brown and had curly hair and wore a pink blouse and some apple bottom jeans. The other was darker and had neck length hair. She wore an orange blouse that revealed her ample cleave age and she wore short had to be Chase. "Hey, mama what's happening? Let me get you pregnant."

He said to one of them. The lighter one laughed and said, "You got jokes!" The other curiously asked him, "Where you from, mayne? You got a accent and shit," He seemed to hesitate a moment and then said, "LS," They both seemed to perk up at this. The pink clad woman said, "Oh that's whats up but I thought you might be from the south but it's cool,"

He clearly was lying and they had not figured it out yet. He faked it though and said, "Yeah, baby I'm from LS! No doubt!" He said, and the orange clad one said, "Oh for real, where at?" He paused a moment and then said, "The hundreds."

The lady asked, "Word? A hundred and what? I got a cousin out on 114th, maybe you live near there?" He just tried to play it smooth and said, "Yeah...anyway, enough about me, ladies. So what's up? Can I get them digits What's tracking?"

The orange clad lady looked at him like he was high. "Where you been nigga?" Both she and the other woman busted up laughing, having finally seen through his act. "'What's tracking'? It's what the fuck is ccracking, nigga you are not from L.S.!"

He got defensive and angrily responded, "Bitch, I am from L.S.! Look at how my pants sag off my ass and shit!" They laughed even harder and louder at that but the one in the pink said, "That don't mean shit! Later for you, bro! Come on, girl this trifling ass nigga is a scrub."

The orange clad lady agreed as they walked off at the stupefied and dumb founded pimp and said, "Yeah, motherfucking wannabe mac!" He shouted after them, "But I'm smooth like that!" This got even more laughter as they got up the block. Nilla approached the man and said, "You Chase?"

He looked at her and asked, "Who wanna know? You the police?" She shook her head. "Friend of a friend. The Big Man sent me, I'm Nilla" He seemed stressed by that. "Oh, come on, I have to do all that today?! I had things to do you know! He's got a habit of catching me on the worst days!"

She smirked saying, "I know. That was pretty painful to watch just now. Top Dollar says you were a pimp. If that's true, you must not be a very good one. You're all supposed to be Macs right? Masters in the Art Of Communication? Well, I can see how you'd be in debt if that's how you fair against women."

Chase stepped up taking offense at that. "Hey hold up you don't know me! Im good at what I do. I let my money do the talking for me and usually the promise of starting at the bottom and getting money is what makes the ho's come running. But they weren't any of my employees. They was just a couple of hoochies I was pushing up on. Anyway, if you are who you say you are, then we got some competition we gotta deal with. Hang on.I got a couple of road dogs I'ma take with me."

She rolled her eyes and waited. "Yo J.D.! Foga! Come on, niggas we gotta roll out!" Her turned to Nilla and said, "You got room in your car for two more? These boys are just some muscle I have roll with me just in case shit happens. You never know. Especially the guy we're gonna deal with? He's a big time player in Venturas. Dolla is mad cause he's one of the few pimps he can't buy off. In a way I respect that but if he don't get with the program, TD is gonna roll right over him."

A couple of large men emerged from inside the apartment complex they were near. One stood about six foot six and looked like a body builder. He was African American, and was almost as dark as Nilla. Actually darker. He had his hair cut short and had a few designs cut into the little bit of hair he had left in the back. The other was a Samoan who was built more like a wrestler. His hair was almost Afro like and he had it long in a big poofy ponytail.

J.D., the shorter but more athletic one got in the back first. They both had pistols. Chase got in as well. "Aight, these girls are over on Santa Anna boulevard. Anyway, like I was saying, this guy Top Dolla wants to put out of business, he's got some of the best girls in the city. It's one thing if you got a market on the pussy you see walking them corners but it's another when he can get that high class kind everybody comes here for. Those girls you see in the newspaper adds, i mean, if you retro enough to read a newspaper. A lot of those girls, in fact most of them are independent agents working on their own. To be able to have any taste of their cut, you'd have to have some serious connections. This dude, Nero I been telling you about he has just that."

She thought it over. "I know it's one of the oldest professions in the world, I'm well aware of that but that's one thing I never liked about prostitution. They're doing all of the work and putting in all the efforts yet there's always a man who thinks he's entitled to some of the money because he feel like he owns a woman. As if she were a piece of property. He hits her too"

The man known as J.D. spoke in a deeper voice than Chase and he said, "Nah, it aint even like that. A real pimp like Chase here don't hit girls. That's damaging the merchandise. What you're talking about is gorilla pimping. Those guys are rarer than you might think and when they do act like that they get no respect in the pimping community. Don't believe all that shit Vinewood movies try to portray it as. That's that bullshit."

Chase slapped hands with him and said, "Word to your mama, boi! Players recognize players! Anyway, yeah that's true what he said and we also gotta provide the protection just in case one of the Johns try and run off or if he gets too rough with her then we gotta go and straighten them out."

Foga said, "Yeah that's true. Plus a guy like Nero, the guy who we're about to go shut down, he's successful cause he lets the ladies operate themselves. And he gives them burners to carry in their purses just in case. He runs a cat house in town too. Some are just girls off the street while others are those bad bitches that are escorts. Not even like they're even full time anyway. They just do that when they need the paper. But really what guys lie Nero really be about is getting a good reputation. He's one of the best pimps in town. He don't tax his girls much and really what he mainly do for them is provide more clients across town. He tells them who's who and where the money's at, then they get paid after they fuck and then he collects a finders fee."

Chase nodded. "Damn straight! Almost a shame we gotta go and fuck with his business. Actually now that I think about it, TD didn't say we kill him. We just gotta go recruit a few of his ho's. That plus Nero has a few of his own enforcers keeping watch just in case any tricks try to make off with the pay without paying the ladies. We need to get rid of those motherfuckers when we pull up there. They aint gonna take kindly to competition."

Nilla sighed. It was times like these that she hated being the only woman in the car. She did still speak her mind though. "Okay, so you say that beating up a woman is not as often practiced as I think? Well even still if they're only collecting money and instead of using violence they use promises of wealth, that still makes them poverty pimps doesn't it? That's not a whole hell of a lot better!"

Chase shrugged. "Look, girl, I hear what you're saying but I know what kind of female you are. You're an idealist. The problem is, when a lot of idealists get hit with a double dose of reality, they either, A, get really jaded, or B, they become hypocrites. Sometimes even both! All I'm saying is there's the way things should be and the way things are. But this is Venturas. A hustler city. I say it's better to be a realist and be happy keeping it real than an idealist who's just gonna get crushed every time."

She was curious about one thing. "So if this Nero is such a thorn in the side and Top Dollar can't buy him off, why doesn't he kill him? Or just make him a bigger offer? How does he even have the money to run such an operation that he can get more highly desired girls to work for him? There's another guy that works for Top Dollar that said Venturas has the classiest working girls in the country. Is there any truth to that?"

Chase rubbed his palms together. "Oh, hells yeah! You bet your fine curvy ass they're some of the best in the country! Can't nobody compare! Venturas is where it's at. So yeah, if you get a lock on a vice like that you got an opportunity to make a lot of racks. Nero's a smart man. It's like he's on the other side of the tracks as far as business and capitalism goes but I aint hating on the nigga. He's flossing like a boss!"

Foga nodded. "Yeah! Maybe he'll start breaking bread with us and T.D. after this. Maybe he'll finally see the house always wins. While nobody's really had a lock on the whole state in a long time, somebody has always run Venturas. In the 80's it was the mafia. 90's, it was big corporations. In the early twenty first, the mafia got on board with some of those big money suits in the companies and got them to pay up protection and sign contracts with some of the families. now that we in the teens into the 10's it could very easily be Top Dollar running this bitch. I mean he's going for the whole state the whole monopoly and even even in this town there aint too much he don't have a hand in. Nero is smart but T.D. is richer."

J.D. also spoke up and said, "That plus one other way aside from pimping he gets the scrilla to buy up a lot of muscle to watch out for his workers is white girl," Nilla shot him a look in the rear view mirror. "White girl? What does race have to do with this? I thought the pimps in this town employed everybody?" This got Chase, Foga, and J.D. to laugh hard.

When they finally could talk, J.D. was breathless and said, "Nah. What I mean was cane. That's slang out here for blow. White girl, you feel me? Aint you ever heard that song? That's the slap right there! Anyway, people say that so five o don't know what you saying."

Foga nodded but said, "Fo sho. But I do love me some white girl,though."

Nilla looked at him and said, "What? Why? They're just women like any other kind," Chase shook his head both at Nilla's comment and Foga's. "Look, my both here is a dumb ass fool thinking with his dick but one thing you gotta know about this country, since you new and all is they're like a commodity over here. Real talk."

J.D. laughed. "On the real this nigga wrote a poem and shit about his future dream girl. He described her as blonde hair and blue eyed. I know a lot of niggas wanna dig out them white bitches. It aint nothing personal, the reality is they're just easier than other women. You throw one compliment their way and they throw themselves at you! I'm not saying I'm into that cause I aint lusting over those ratchets but still I just understand why some do."

He then turned looking at Foga and said, "What I don't understand, is how this Polynesian ass nigga could be Samoan, who's related to Hawaii I might add, be from an ethnic group that's pretty much the original people of Hawaii, have some of the most beautiful females man ever laid eyes on and still wanna fuck a devil?" Nilla chuckled a little at that.

The Samoan bodyguard shrugged saying, "I like what I like. Fuck you if you don't approve," J.D. shook his head. "Sellout motherfucker," Chase held up his hands. "Hold up, playa. Pussy is pussy! My dick don't discriminate when I'm up in them guts! J.D. do got a point about them Hawaiian bitches though. Foga, you're a sucker if you only like vanilla. There's 31 flavors. Maybe I should have got me a real Samoan to roll along."

Foga snapped, "Fuck you, man! You aint God!"

J.D. smacked Chase him in the back of the head. "Damn, fool, how many times you gonna say that word? Didn't your mama teach you any manners? There's a lady present!"

She looked in the rear view to see if J.D. was just saying that to score points with her to see if he was watching her watching him. He was not. He just looked out the window shaking his head. Chase said, "Hey don't be hitting me, dawg! I'm your employer! I should fire your stupid ass and make you walk home! This aint your car, you don't make the rules and shit!"

Nilla spoke up saying, "No but this is my car and I do. So watch it. You should listen to your friend," Chase snickered. "What, him? If he was the brains of the operation he'd be riding shotgun and he'd be the one making bank rolls of these skirts! Fine, boss lady, you say to not say pussy I'll keep it outta my mouth."

Foga chuckled. "That won't be hard. He don't eat pussy anyway," Chase looked back saying, "The fuck is that supposed to mean? That stereotype is getting real tired. It aint that we don't do the damn thing we just don't do it too much cause then a female will be catching feelings and all. Don't be speaking on brothers pearl diving, man. I do it just fine, I just do it once in a blue moon."

Nilla scoffed, "Catch feelings? God forbid! You're right, that sounds so horrible!" Chase aimed his thumb at her. "See that? Why can't you be more like homegirl here?She only been with us five minutes and she's already catching on!" J.D. laughed. "It's called sarcasm you dumb nincompoop. Something witty people do but you wouldn't know about that now would you?"

Chase glared and said, "Just remember something mister big time. You'd be in the pen if it wasn't for me looking out for you like a real player do. If it wasn't for me you'd be doing a three year bid. So keep talking, bro next time you can be with Wesley Snipes practicing your Kung Fu behind bars! Show a little gratitude! A true playa respects the chain of command."

They pulled up to a spot on the corner as they had arrived on Santa Anna. "Hey, you mind pulling up alongside those females there?"There was three working girls all of them relatively attractive. One was a Caucasian red head with a bob cut and she wore a leather jacket over a lace blouse that showed off her pale but ample cleavage.

The second was a black girl with brownish hair tied in a pony tail. She wore a denim blue skirt, a black midriff top, and a leather pink jacket over it. The last was a Brazilian girl with dark brown hair, very tan skin, and who wore some revealing sweat pants to show off her curvy butt. On top she wore an aqua blue half shirt. Her white thong was revealed in the back as well.

He called to them and whistled. "Say, ladies! Listen up, I know who you working for vut my employer is a better man! I know you think that scrub Nero can give you all the security with benefits you need but the fact is, that just aint true. Top Dollar on the other hand is the man creeping on the come up! I'm a player myself so I know what kind of nigga it takes to run this town."

The girl in the denim said, "For what? I don't know him! This aint no full time thing for me anyway I just have bills to pay," He insisted, "I can promise you! He's the man to roll with. Anybody disrespects you, comes at you wrong, Top Dolla will handle that shit in a heart beat. Shit, you work with us, before long you could get your fine asses off the street and become a madam, even! Everybody does their time and then makes their way to the top. Just like Drake said!"

The red head said, "What would that asshole know? He's never been at the bottom," Chase asked, "Who, Top Dollar? Cause I guarantee that motherfucker..." The sister said, "No, fool! Drake! He always says he came from the bottom but he was never there. He grew up in middle class Canada. He wouldn't know nothing about life on the streets no matter what he says in his songs. As for Top Dollar, I hear bad things about him. People he doesn't like end up dead in dumpsters."

The Brazilian girl sighed. "How much more do you make working for him? A woman like us, I mean? Is easy for you to say what you do but you are a man," Nilla smiled on the inside in agreement with that. "Look, I'm not trying to pretend like I do what you all do on the corner every day but that's why you're needed! You got talent and we need it! As for Top Dollar, it's easy enough to stay on his good side. You ladies could be living life in the fast lane real soon but as for your boy Nero, I don't know about him! He happens to be on the boss's shit list so you might just find big daddy chopped up in plastic and then what? You're homeless. You really want that to happen?"

The red head scoffed, "First of all one thing I can tell you is, Nero is from here, okay? He knows everybody and he knows the city like the back of his hand. This Top Dollar guy? He's an out of towner. What makes you think anybody from out here is going to want to work for him? Didn't he come from Vice City?"

The girl in the sweat pants chimed in again and said, "This is true and Nero does not hit us and does not let any of his men hit us and he only charges 5% of our earnings. He protects us whenever anybody that cannot be trusted tries to take one of us. That plus he lets us sleep at his brothel and we do not work there unless we want to. He lets us manage our own hours out here on the streets and we stay at brothel when we want. He also has condo where many of his escort girls live and he lets us stay there rent free. He owns entire building! What can your boss do that is better?"

Chase told her, "Yeah but for how long? If somebody steps to you and decides to make off with a few of you lovely ladies without paying, who can stop them? Top Dollar is building an empire. Nero's just a mom and pops store. He can't compete! With us, not only can we protect you, we have the resources to seek justice against any violent clients if we have to. Besides what's better? Having yo live in a brothel or condo indefinitely or getting to one day be a lady, a Madam living in the lap of luxury?

The denim skirt girl said, "Ok...do you have his number? Some way we can get hold of him?" He handed each of them a business card. "You call up and you ask for Don Dixie," The red head asked, "Who the fuck is Don Dixie?" He smiled, "That's just it, baby! There is no Don Dixie. It's a code name. One thing I can tell you ladies is he is discreet and you'll be much less likely to do any jail time with him in your corner. You call Don Dixie, give the man on the phone your digits and then T.D. will get back to you!"

He then bid them farewell after he'd given them each a business card. He turned to Nilla, "Okay, no we need to head just off of Sinatra. Got a few more..." Just then he was cut off as somebody opened his car door and pulled him out of the car. A Mexican guy with a shaved head wearing a Bandits baseball jersey and sagging jean shorts pulled him out. He had a baseball bat. "Motherfucker! Think you can tread on Nero's business? Think again!"

He hit Chase in the side of the head as he hit the ground. Another thug, likely another one of Nero's goons, a Central American man, wearing a silver chain, a black tank top, and gray jeans ran up and kicked Chase in the side. He punched him saying, "Get your ass up!" Speaking with a thick accent. "Nero's going to have a field day with you, cabron!"

J.D. rolled down his window and shouted, "Guess again, bitch!" He discharged his Beretta M92F three times hitting the man with the bat in the stomach, firing out of the window. The man cried out dropping the bat and fell over on his side clutching his bloody wounds. The other goon rushed the back passenger seat fearless and attempted to disarm the guard taking his gun and punched J.D. in the face. Chase got to his feet and pulled out a custom gold Desert Eagle. He fired, the powerful .44 slug tore into the back of the thug.

The man fell face down, blood dripping from his mouth as he coughed and hacked up falling to the ground. He put an extra shot in the back of his head and his brains imploded as he shot him at a downward angle, the blast painting the sidewalk with his skull fragments and pieces of bloody teeth as his face smashed against the curb, splitting open what reminded of the rest of it.

The guy who'd carried the baseball bat, had a gun of his own and was trying to retrieve it but Chase gave him a hard kick in the jaw. "Stay down, bitch! You're lucky I don't put another one in your stank ass!" He panted and touched the side of his head saying, "Shit! That asshole cracked me upside the head! This better not scar! Nilla, get us out of here and over to Sinatra! We got more honeys we gotta expand to! Damn, Top Dollar better erase my debt after this shit!"

They sped off but as they did, several gunshots hit the back of the car. They all ducked down in their seats as two rounds went through the back windshield. "Damn, who the fuck is popping at us?" Yelled Foga. "Glass is everywhere!" There was a Mexican lady dressed in all black with long dark hair firing at them. "Was it one of the girls?" Demanded Nilla.

The two guys in the back shook their heads in unison. "Nah. They were all ducking for cover when the shooting started as soon as J.D. started busting!" They sped up to get out of there, Nilla taking a sharp left at the first intersection. The lady who had fired, a Chicana woman walked away casually from the area as though nothing happened but she got out a cell phone. "Hermano, there's been a problem. Yeah. Same as before."

Nilla took back streets to get them there the quickest way. She was grateful most of the new cars had GPS systems and even a lot of the older ones had some sort of navigation system or the owner would install them. If not that, people would break out the old school solution. A map. Which was how people still found their way around back home.

Chase requested, "Hey, can you put on some music, please? I'm bugging! I need to calm my nerves!" She put the radio station to Radio Los Santos. The song Why Me by Dresta played. It was a diss track to the Game. "Sure! But being prepared would give you even more peace of mind next time. You really think the guy everybody knows in town is going to roll over and let an outsider take control?"

As they drove down the street, Chase closed his eyes a minute and put his face in his palm. "Damn, I gotta get out of this town. It's so cut throat around here."

Nilla asked him, "Isn't every city like that? Come to think of it why did you say you were from L.S. when you're not?" He just looked out the window and sighed. J.D explained, "Look, basically it's like this. Me and Chase always look out for each other. We always have we're from the same hood all our lives. Grew up around pimps, gangsters, dealers all that shit and we remember the days when the mob ran this town too. In a way they still around don't let nobody ever tell you otherwise."

Nilla nodded. "Funny you should say that. I had an encounter earlier today," He shook his head. "Aint nothing funny about it! Those guys don't play. They'll kill you and then have the money to buy their way out of prison time. But that's your business. Anyway, like I been saying, me and Chase we grew up around the gangsters and hustlers out here. We may look out for each other, but the majority of motherfuckers out here aint on that tip."

Nilla asked, "Can you be more specific?" He told her, "The way it is, you see a lot of L.S. and San Fierro based gangs showing up in this town. Branched out here from the western side of the state. Then to other states entirely! But in Fierro and Santos niggas consider the gangs out here fake. Why? Because they put money over everything. You got Ballas out here doing stick ups with Groves. Breaking bread with their enemies. Man you even got gangs that are made up out of members of the two and a lot of the guys who founded them used to be from L.S. so the L.S. g's was pissed cause they knew they knew the rules and still put cash as the priority."

Foga shrugged. "Can't know a hustle. I'm not hating at all, mayne. Get it any way you can get it. Fuck all that other bullshit. I'm trying to get paid not get killed."

J.D. shook his head disapprovingly at his friend. "You really don't get how capitalism works do you? Anyway, they put money above all other loyalties. No matter what the rules are! Then you got one hybrid gang over here beefing with one other hybrid gang over there. Don't let the Strip fool you. It gets wild out here in Venturas. They don't call it the City Of Transgression for nothing!"

He continued after pausing only a moment possibly to let it sink in. "This used to be outlaw bandit country out here. But here's the thing that sets Venturas apart from most other cities with gangs and hustlers trying to get over. When you roll with a gang, you might roll with them a year maybe two but then they turn on you fast. They'll kill their own homies for the money. Aint nothing wrong with getting paid but you get to know somebody a year and you cool with them and then you ice them just for their grip? That's cold."

Nilla thought it over then said, "Sure, but isn't other cities like that?" He was quick to say, "I'm sure it is everywhere you go, I've never realy been anywhere else but for the most part from what I hear, that's why the Groves and the Ballin Locs don't like their Venturas counterparts. Out there it's supposed to be homies for life and there's hood niggas out there that mean that and be that but out here it's homies for however long I need you for. Once I don't," He made a hand motion of a gunshot.

She looked to Chase again and asked, "So why claim L.S. as your hometown?" He rolled his eyes. "Hell I don't know! I just wanted to get laid. You know I got people in this city that wouldn't mind putting a hot one in the back of my head. Am I wrong I wanted to get my mind off that? We're all grown adults here! Anyway, she thought I had an accent so I figured fuck it, I'll run with it."

She still didn't entirely see his angle. "Why Los Santos?" Fog laughed and said, "Is she for real, man? Damn she's clueless. Even for a fob! You just said that!" Chase looked back at her and said, "Same reason J.D. said. In L.S. while you got some guys that's shady out there, out there it's really no more than any other city plus out here we always hearing stories about Ganton. It'd be like being from Alderney City and living your whole life out there when you got Liberty City on the other side."

She admitted, "You lost me there. Never been to Liberty," He recommended, "Don't then. It's overrated and it smells like piss. A glorified sewer. At least L.S. has the rappers, bad bi...I mean females, excuse me, and Vinewood. And even if you aint in the VIP areas, even the ghettos are cracking. I mean they got neighborhood block parties like nobody else. And even when it comes down to gun play, at least out there it's real. Out there aint nobody pretending to be friends. You wear green, I'm wearing purple, we head up or strap up. Aint any pretending to be friends."

Nilla suggested, "Okay, but when it comes to gun fights if that's your definition of real then where I come from is realer than any American ghetto. And real is real wherever it happens. Where I come from it was way worse than this we didn't have a whole city full of lights like the strip. Maybe, as far as L.S. yo're just idealizing it. Assuming what it is based on what many think who never went there rather than those who have or those who do live there?"

They pulled up to the next spot. Nilla waited in the car and Chase got out and did his thing again. This time it took two minutes. Foga pointed out to Nilla, "Look, I think what Chase is trying to say about shedding lead is that the why is more important than the what, you feel me?To him that's what makes it more real. Don't mean I agree with him though. This is my city. If I wanted to leave I would have."

Chase got back in the car pretty quickly. He said, "Hey, I just got a tip on where these fools got a spot. They got a smaller operation and they're running pussy and dope out of the 's running things there. We head on over there, we can catch them slipping."

He gave her directions and she updated her route. Chase made a call on his cell phone. "Yo, I need to talk to Don Dixie. Yeah, this Chase. Chase! What are you deaf? Chase, motherfucker! As in paper chase! That's my name my occupation don't wear it out, player!"

They crossed a bridge taking them into a more industrial area of Las Venturas. They had about fifteen blocks to go before they'd be there. Just then, a teal colored Stallion zipped by and pulled in front of them and a Chicano man leaned out of the window opening fire. Nilla and Chase both ducked down. Foga and J.D. returned fire with their pistols. Shots went through Nilla's windshield and through her seat but luckily she was ducked down. Chase fired blindly outside of it bringing hod arm around the side out the window from the cover he could get.

The muscle car got filled full of bullets and the windshield was painted red. They could hear the horn blaring as the dead driver leaned against it. They sped up the street and J.D. yelled, "Chase! Foga took a couple in the side, man! We should get his ass to the ER!"

Foga declined saying, "Nah, man to hell with that. I'm good it's just a flesh wound and I've had worse. Let's just find these lil bitches and go smoke em out! Nero's punk ass has me pissed. He's fucking with the baddest Melon Farmer in Las Venturas!"

Chase commented, "Okay, bro but don't bleed out on us, aight? We still need you. You're a good man to have at my side when things get too out of control."

They arrived at the house and a cholo looking man dressed in some overalls, over a lighter blue shirt, with a black ponytail stood up and retrieved a pistol from his shoe which he had tucked under his sock. "Wrong house, wrong business, motherfucker!" He fired his .22 twice one round hitting Foga in the stomach, another barely missing Nilla. Foga was still in the fight however and returned fire. He hit the cholo with a round in the left thigh and another in the abdomen which hit him in the gull bladder.

He lit the guy up shooting him in the left side of the jaw. "Fuck your house, fuck your business and fuck you! We do what we want!" Two more armed thugs came out of the house, one brandishing an Italian 9mm, the other with a Colt Python. Nilla aimed down her sights and fired a shot at one of them aiming for the knee caps. The first she hit, was a short stocky man with short hair, a Vice City Mambas cap, wearing cargo shorts and a camouflage tank knee exploded, the left and the shot came out of the other side tearing through.

He screamed like a woman in a horror movie. He let out an unintelligible string of words and curses. She shot him again, this time in the stomach. As she blew his guts over the steps, he slid down, glazing the steps with his crimson smear. His gun discharged as he hit the steps and so did it. She aimed for the next guy, firing a shot to his head and decorated the front door with his brains. She and Foga got one side of the front door while Chase and J.D. got on the other. Nilla pressed the door open with the barrel of her gun, trying to be careful with prints. Five shots went through the door and somebody yelled, "Pinche puto! Who's fucking with our casa? You know who we are?"

She rolled her eyes at the cliche statement he made. She kicked the door open with her shoe. Chase fired around the side. Nilla demanded, "Where's Nero?!" A man shouted back, "He's with your mama, bitch! Probably gluing her eyes shut!" She came around the side and fired, aiming for the first guy she saw. This one was a chubby Mexican guy with two pistols, and he was bald. She fired hitting him with one in the gut and another in his head. His lifeless corpse slumped against the couch.

A guy in the back who had been seated at a dining room table fired at her. He yelled, "Nah, he aint the one that said, that puta! You got the wrong man!" She fired from cover and shouted, "Hey, girl what the fuck is wrong with you, you trying to get yourself shot?"

She gritted her teeth and reloaded the gun. "Nobody speaks ill of my mother," She said through gritted teeth. She crouched down and crept into the door way staying low. He saw her coming in and he fired two shots at her,. She slid to cover behind a couch. "I got more homies coming! You bitches are screwed!" He shouted. He fired a few more shots trying to hit Nilla despite her taking safe cover but one round did whiz past her just barely missing. He also fired to keep the others out of the door way. Nilla rolled from behind the couch to the side. As he was reloading he spotted her and she fired a shot in his chest. It hit him on the right side. "Shit..." He croaked collapsing.

She fired another shot, hitting him in the stomach. The bullet went into his lower intestine causing a tear. He bled from the mouth and if that hadn't killed him just then, the toxic acid now finding its way into his stomach due to the rupture from the bullet wound would kill him. Several girls came running out screaming. "Ladies! Go wait outside! We'll take you away from all this chaos!"

Three more cholos fired from inside the kitchen. One, carried a Walther P99 and he wore a red checkered shirt, pendeletons, brown khakis, and a dark red 69ers cap. He also had a mustache. Another, wore a white wife beater and long jeans shorts and he carried a Sig Sauer P226. The last, was overweight and wore a large T shirt that was still too small. He had his long wavy hair tied back like a sumo wrestler. He carried a sawed off. Nilla saw there were some stairs and he got up them taking cover around the corridor that provided a blind spot for her from the shooters.

Foga and J.D. managed to get themselves into the house and were shooting at the thugs. "When Nero gets a hold of you motherfuckers he's gonna cut your balls off! Serious shit!" Shouted the guy in the hat. Nilla retired fire, barely holding onto the kicking gun with one hand which took all her strength. Still, if she was to try to shoot the right way around the corner she'd leave herself too exposed to being shot.

She almost dislocated her shoulder as she fired another shot trying to hold onto the cannon. She hit the fat guy in the stomach. "That won't be a problem!" She yelled. "I don't have any for you to cut off!" The other two cholos fired upon Foga and J.D. and J.D. took two in the arm and one in the side. The slide went back as the gun emptied. J.D. fired the rest of his magazine into the thug in the hat. "How's that for balls, bitch?" As Foga finished the guy in the wife beater with a head shot, J.D. said, "The 69ers are overrated by the way."

The guy Nilla had shot was still alive, despite the serious wound. He reloaded his shotgun as he tried to get up. Chase was out on the porch screaming into a cell phone. "Foga, J.D. get out here and cover me! I got some people coming to get the girls back to a safe place but there's more of Nero's guys coming!"

As they rushed outside to go help Chase, Nilla fired three more shots into the fat goons stomach. "Can't blast away that much fat! You Americans don't have much self control, do you?"He slumped back in pain grunting and she took his freshly loaded sawed off from him and fired it into his face. His head was blasted in half and the top half of his skull was blown in half sending brains and skull matter flying all over the dining room table. What remained of his head looked like a bloody, sloppy incomplete drawing.

She took the sawed off just in case and took a Walther P99 off a dead thug. As she got outside, she saw a dark green Landstalker had pulled up and a car load of Nero's thugs were opening fire on Chase, Foga, and J.D. They had managed to drop two of them but Foga had taken a round in the left leg and was not doing so well. Chase fired, wounded one of the guys, a bald headed cholo in an LC penetrators jersey. Nilla fired the last remaining shot in the sawed off and hit a goon in the chest and neck killing him instantly. There was a few pellets that also hit the guy Chase had wounded.

The remaining pellets hit the side of the vehicle. It was a ghastly site looking at how she had opened up the chest and throat of the thug she had just killed. She retrieved her Desert Eagle again. Chase shot the guy he'd wounded. He put a shot in his left eye. Chase breathed and said, "Hopefully, that's all of them.

Just then, a red Sabre sped up the street and a man fired several shots out of the window. He hit J.D. with one round in the side of the stomach and three rounds hit Foga who had tried to fire back at the guy. J.D. fired back at them, hitting the passenger in the chest and with three rounds in the heads. The car ran over Foga and cracked the windshield. "Foga, no!" Yelled Chase.

Both Chase and J.D. went around the side. J.D., despite his wounds, pulled the passenger out of the car, who was wounded from the gunshots and the glass in his face. He pulled the man out of the car and tossed him in the street . The man fell face down and J.D. fired a shot into the back of his head or at least intended to but the bullet hit lower and hit him in the spinal cord in the back of his neck. It was equally brutal as a head shot execution style but more painful and slow.

The other guy was pulled out of the car by Chase and he shot him in the face before he could even hit the ground. The man fell bleeding, the bullet hitting his already bloody nose. What resulted was an even bloodier and bonier mess. The two were distraught about Foga. He had briefly been on the hood of the car and had been more mangled and cut up by the windshield but now he lay in the middle of the street bleeding seemingly everywhere. There was no way to save him. He'd been shot too many times and run over on top of that. As big a boy as he was, he was no longer living.

The car to pick up the working girls arrived and then another did. They headed up the street as they had gotten back in Nilla's car. "Drop us back off on the West Side will you? I gotta make a phone call."

They sped up the street as they hoped to avoid sirens. Just then several gunshots rang out in the back of their car. "Ah shit! Yeah, man we got it under control. I lost one of my guys but we got the girls. They're on their way back to ya. Don't worry I'll have it taken care of."

He hung up.A black willard followed them up the street with three people. One in the back seat was firing a pistol into the side of the car. Nilla took the opportunity to use her new found weapon, the P99. As she tooled up, she had to swerve as she got into the wrong lane and almost collided with an RV. She fired aiming in the general direction of the back seat without looking. She let off four founds but luckily hit the guy with the first one in the left cheek.

She swerved again hoping to let the oncoming traffic hit the car that was chasing them. It did collide with a white Moon Beam. J.D. was wounded and said, "Foga was trying to be all hard and not go to the ER but I need to, man! I don't wanna die trying to recruit escorts! I'll bleed out if I don't."

Chase nodded, "Cool. Hey, Nilla can you change directions? We need to get to the hospital over near the airport. It's not too far from there," She said, "I can certainly try."

J.D. was grief stricken. "Damn it, Foga...why would he stand in the street like that? He should have got in the car once we thought we were through back there! What am I gonna tell his mama?" Chase sadly said, "I don't know, bro. I can't believe it either but we're up to our ass in cholos. We need to make sure they aint tailing us first and then we'll drop you at the ER, I promise. But we don't want them knowing where you'll be or they'll send a few boys to take you out in there too."

Nilla sympathetically said, "He seemed to be a loyal soldier. It sadly comes with the territory this kind of lifestyle, people die but all the same, it's a shame. We could have been more careful."

Chase, seemingly very stressed said, "Yeah well a lot of good that does us now! I knew him for years! He was one of the best dudes in the neighborhood to back you up in a fight. Guy was a football star all through his school years. You don't got football where you're from do ya?"

She said, "We do but it's not the same as yours. As a matter of fact I think it makes more sense to call ours football since we use our feet. In American football you barely use your feet."

J.D. winced in pain. "At least we got the mofuckas that killed him though. If nothing else, no matter what happens...here on out...? I'm glad I killed the guy that shot him," Chase said, "Just hang in there, stay with us, big fella. Anyway you're right I'm glad I avenged him too. You know, Nilla, all that shit we were talking about earlier regarding wars and mney, we just lost a homie over what some would call a war but was it really? Seems to me it was just dumb niggas shooting over a little bit of bank rolls. Thinking they're on the come up."

Nilla shrugged. "What do you think all wars are? Money is always tied up into them. Some say it's the root of all evil while others say the things people will do to get it are what is evil. In a way I can see both sides of that, actually," Chase sighed saying, "Yeah but this wasn't for no greater good or anything. I lost my homie over this. And for what? To pay off a debt to save my own ass? I realize Top Dollar is the man and he does pay my bills but he better see to it that Foga's family gets money sent to them. That's some fucked up shit how those Mexicans did him."

J.D. shrugged. "Yeah...I feel you. I mean that's just life though. In the midst of life we're in death. That's what the bible says. Me and Foga used to go to church together. I know he wasn't perfect but sometimes you gotta do things on the street that you aint that proud of. If God is really forgiving he can understand that. I hope he's with God now."

Chase shook his head. "I got nothing to say on that, man. That's the last thing I want to hear about right now. If he is in charge and is running things up there why didn't he leave my nigga be? Matter of fact why does he let all the partnas i lost to these streets go out the way they did?"

He rolled his eyes as J.D. started to say, "Like the good book says, the lord giveth, the lord tak..." Just then glass shattered and sound of a blast filled the air and Nilla smelled gunpowder once again even stronger than it already was before. J.D's body jerked back and he took pellets from a shotgun blast in the side of his abdomen as well as the side of his head,. The spatter from his brains hit the mostly shattered windshield. He slumped on his side in the seat. Chase screamed his name.

The passenger in the front seat from the Sabre was back and he pumped the shotgun again. Nilla took a sharp turn and hit the breaks doing a 180 in the street. With her left hand, she fired nine shots at the windshield of the car. _Why didn't he die from that crash? _

Nilla hit the guy in the drivers seat and he took a shot in the forehead. The other, she hit with a round in the jugular. Chase got out and went up to the dead bodies searching them and checking to make sure they were dead. He came running back and said, "We gotta go. Take us back to Top Dollar's place. I'm sorry for the constant detours but if Nero has more men after us they won't follow us there!"

She sped up the street and was hoping that if there were anybody chasing them, her fast speed would leave them in the dust. "Those fools in the car were North Side Rifas. They're a serious Mexican gang, nilla."

She nodded. "I know, them and the Aztecas have developed a presence all over the country even though they started here. I'd heard of them in Vice City but never met any," He warned, "While the Rifas aint racist toward people like us like the South Side Aztecas are, they're still a force to be reckoned with. They're one of the most hardcore gangs in the country so if any of their homies finds out about who killed them you may need to watch yourself. Matter of fact, watch yourself anyway. The same goes for the Aztecas. They don't care what you're about. To them, we're all the same."

He said, "Excuse me really quick. I gotta make a quick phone call. We gotta get rid of this body. But I don't want to just dump it. He was the homie. We just gotta move his body from the car though and do it in a way that's not gonna get traced back to us. You handled yourself pretty well back there. I was shook when that shotgun fired but you didn't even bat an eye."

He called the boss again. "TD? Listen, we got the job done but there's been a major problem. Something we need to keep on the DL..."

_Rory_

_Am I My Brothers Keeper?_

He pulled up to the club house and got out as did Mohammad and John. John put his AOD patch on. "You're playing with fire, Johnny boy! The Angels Of Death are bad news. If what you told me about this Henry man's brother is true then you shouldn't be getting involved with them."

They got out of the vehicle and John said, "What did I tell you, bruv? I'm not cut out for the straight life. At least not only the straight life. For fucks sake, Rory I'm not the only man who is balancing the life of an outlaw biker with that of a man with a legitimate business! The straight life on its own would be boring. Have you seen some of these American slobs in a 9 to 5 job? They're miserable! The only reason they haven't blown their own brains out from misery is because they've never had to hold a gun and wouldn't know where to find one."

They entered the club house, Rory and Mohammad following John. They walked into the back room where a meeting was just said, "You're late, brother! I thought you were an Angel to the end?" He held up his arms in defense and disbelief. "We're ten minutes late, man! We got here as fast as we could."

Henry shook his head. "That aint gonna cut it, J. We already voted on it but since you kept the other brothers waiting, you and your 'brother' here from the Emerald Isle are going to be the ones to handle this shit with the Khans. We're hitting the Johns at their clubhouse over in in Hashbury. But since you're here, gracing us with your holy and self righteous presence, we figured we're just going to send you and your other fob here instead!"

One Angel, a thin white male with long red hair tied back in a black bandanna 1980's rocker style, spoke up saying, "Hey wait a minute, Henry that wasn't what we voted on!" The biker known as Meaty said, "Shut up and show your president some respect! He wears the president patch. You're just the Road Captain. You don't have a say in what goes on."

The man glared at him with an ice berg stare. "Meaty, how can you even talk when you're always kissing his ass? You think just because you brown nose the big cheese it's going to get you to rank up?" Henry cut in saying, "Hey! The enemy is out there. The Khans, the yuppies, the pigs, the Zionists, the hippies and the liberals. In here, we need to be one. So shut the fuck up!"

John looked at his two brothers in arms and said, "What? Look don't get me wrong me and these boys go way back but the three of us against an entire clubhouse full of bikers? Don't you think that's a tad insane?" The biker known as Meaty slapped John on the back. "John, that's the point. Your loyalty has come into question. You have to prove us wrong. We just want to make sure you're still a brother to the Angels Of Death MC."

Henry crossed his arms and said, "And if you don't do it for us, then do it for yourself and your brother from across the pond. They're going to kill you if I'm not mistaken. They don't let some out of town asshole get involved in their business. They wanted to settle a score with John and you stepped in. That makes you part of it. You guys go deal with it, then maybe we'll lay off you a little bit. But you're gonna need to do that on your own."

Meaty also sneered looking at Mohammad and said "And leave the fucking haji at home. I'm afraid our charter isn't looking to kidnap any sex slaves...at least not today..." He looked at the other Angels as though he were a comedian delivering a punch line as they laughed at what he said. "That and we don't need any towers blown up. So why don't you take him back to the 24/7 with his genie lamp?"

Rory flipped him off saying, "Shut your cock sucker, man. Even some of your own brothers think you're a twat," Meaty chuckled saying, "Look at Rory here defending his Iranian boyfriend," Mohammad cursed saying, "Hey! Meaty Homo! I am Palestinian you American degenerate! Eat shit and die, mofo."

Henry said, "Same thing same fucking smell. Anyways, boys. You'd best get to it. Otherwise the Khans might just get hit men all around the city waiting to shoot you wherever you go."

They turned to leave and as they headed back to the SUV, the red haired man said, "Hey John, wait up, dude! Listen, I know Henry can be a dick and that asshole Meaty is like his lap dog but I've got your back. I'm willing to come with you guys and I'll even get a few brothers to come with. Henry is the chapter president but he aint God. So what do you say?"

John nodded saying, "It'd be much appreciated, boyo! Rory, this here is a good friend of mine. Brett Rose, also known as the Thorn. He's Irish just like us. He even lives over near where your apartment is! Needless to say he's one of the brothers who is a bit less of a prick."

They shook hands and Thorn said, "Good to meet ya, dude. A friend to Johnny is a friend to me. Anyway, so are you ladies going to get on a hog like me or are you going to drive in that eye sore?" Mohammad shot back, "You very funny my main man! No...as much as I like risking my life and living on the edge, I'm going to pass on getting decapitated by a semi truck But you have fun. We'll take my ride."

Thorn scoffed, "Fucking conformists! One day, Mohammad, you'll feel the rush of the wind in your hair and the world rushing past in front of you," Mohammad added, "As well as the bugs in my teeth. No thanks. I have to eat some pussy later on. Maybe these other homos that you roll with like to go to the Glory Holes every Sunday night but this lapsed Muslim still sails on the Tuna Boat only!"

This got laughs out of all of them. Though his English was still not quite on par with theirs it was always a joy to hear Mohammad and his colorful language. Thorn thought a moment and then said, "Okay, I'm going to leave my bike here and come with you guys n the steel death trap. Just don't get me killed, okay?Besides, I'm gonna phone a few brothers to meet us where we need to be. Just one thing though. We aint going to their club house. That's fucking suicide. Gimme a sec."

With his thumbs he really quickly sent a text on his Whiz wireless. "All right guys. We need to go over to the Honkers over in Eastern Basin. The guy you're looking for, the one that fucked with you? He's a regular over there. Most guys just piss away their hard earned money on lap dances but he actually pays enough to get the dancers to take him in the back. VIP treatment. That's where he should be now."

Rory calculated his route and drove there following the female GPS voices directions. "Here's hoping he got to have a pop with one of those slags tonight because it's his last chance to do that so he'd better enjoy it!" Rory rolled his eyes saying, "Oh ya you talk real tough for a ma who needed me to fight his battles for him the last time he was down here! I didn't see ya standing up to Nelson before, did I?"

John said, "Fuck off, Rory. I am on parole. How many times do we need to go over this? I did eight months for that shite! I could have been out in a couple but they don't seem to like me much, the cops out here. Then again Liberty City's weren't any better. Or Belfast's for that matter. My point is, brohamnian, I had to see my parole officer! Now I finally have. So we're in the clear for now! So that Gaper fuck is going to pay!"

Rory demanded, "If you saw your parole officer then why were you worried about the gun back at the auto shop?" John explained, "Sometimes the man drops in on my work place or my home spontaneously. Nothing I can do about that but he aint riding along on this job!"

Thorn grinned wickedly. "Atta boy, Johnny! We knew even when we heard you were thinking of going straight you were still a brother. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. You're an Angel for life just like me and that's the way it should be!"

John pointed out to his fellow biker gang member, "I still do want to go straight, Thorn. The gang life has taken its toll. I just want to work on automobiles and bikes from now on. Sure, I'll miss the highways and runs around state and out of state but I won't miss being shot at. I did me own time in a war. I just want some peace now. Everybody else seems to be getting the American dream, right? That's why your ancestors came here a long time before I did from the old country. To get the piece of the pie that is the American dream."

Thorn shrugged. "I wouldn't know anything about that, dude. My old man was an Angel. His old man before him, he was one of the originals to get patched in. He got shot dead by one of those Gaper assholes in 78' though. Shot him with six from a .38 on the freeway. Shot him off his bike and crashed near Verdant Bluffs. My dad got stabbed to death in his own house about fifteen years ago. We don't know who did it but I think the Raiders did it. He was an asshole and he had a lot of enemies but I didn't expect him to go down that way. I figured it'd be an overdose."

Rory said, "I'm sorry to hear that,l mate. I lost me mum and my da back home a long time ago," Thorn shook his head. "Sorry amigo. That sucks but it's life, isn't it? Anyway as for my dad I'm over it. Still, my point is that as much as I love Johnny here, the fact is, the American dream is something only immigrants and yuppies believe in. Yuppies believe in it because they achieved it because they had it all from day one. Immigrants on the other hand try to escape hell in their own country and come here thinking they can make something of themselves. But many of us who are like, seventh generation Americans? We know this is as good as it gets and it aint a dream."

John protested, "How can ya say that, Rosie boy? You were in a Rock band! From 87' to 94' remember? You were huge back then! Pistols & Crosses, remember them, Rory? We always wanted to see them in concert if we could ever go to America! I always had wondered what happened to them after they broke up. Then I find this lad is in a biker gang in Northern San Andreas! That's where he's been after all these years."

Thorn shook his head. "Yeah but that dream came crashing down. We all broke up but we could have been one of the best bands in Rock & Roll history. We made a killing the first year with our debut album! I came to Los Santos and formed that band around 85. I came from the mid west in a small town. So after my Rock days being an Angel seemed the last option."

Rory was curious, "Well now it really is a pleasure to meet ya! You're known all over the world ya know! This is where you've been all this time? Seems like a waste of pure talent. Why didn't you ever try and get new members of the band?" Thorn rolled his eyes. "We tried that. It just wasn't the same. Anyway, like I tell Johnny all the time. The American dream is a lie. Just like those Burger Shot commercials. Not all it's cracked up to be. So the Angels exists for people like us. It's all I have now. When America fails you, the Angels Of Death, our brotherhood doesn't."

Rory said, "Well, I have no intention of joining any biker gang. I'm just along to help out my brother in arms," John said to Mohammad, "Hey listen, Mo, when we get there we want you to just drop us off and then head home or to the cab depot without us. There's bound to be Freeway's and Zombies parked out front so that is what we'll use to get home."

Mohammad looked at him in disbelief. "Are you serious, John? To hell with what that ugly bitch Henry says! He's a head dick. I am with you guys!" Rory shook his head. "Not this time, mate. You should go home to your wife. If I had one, that's what I would do. You don't need your cab vehicle to get an APB do ya? Some other time, mate. I got nothing to lose. John is in trouble and I'm going to help him."

Rory then added, "I promise the next time we'll use you but for we don't need to ruin your life. Next time bring a vehicle that isn't your own if you want to help, okay?" Mohammad put the vehicle in reverse and said, "Okay, Rory. You're the man. Keep it real, my friend!"

Rory was given a pistol by Thorn. "Here ya go dude. I know I'm An American but we Irish gotta stick together, you know? There's other brothers in the club that are same as I am but they don't really identify with it at all. They're just white or American in their own eyes. But that's over simplifying it! We've got a unique style of our own!" He gave him several magazines from the fifteen shot 9mm. They crept to the parking lot of the busy club. They stayed in cover behind a blue Voodoo. Thorn pulled the slide back on his pistol saying, "There should be some brothers coming along soon. I told them where to meet us."

They did not have any kind of masks which worried Rory. "Shouldn't we have some kind of disguise to hide our faces?" Thorn sighed. "Normally, I'd be inclined to agree with ya but today, we don't have that luxury. It should be fine. I know where all the damn cameras are in that place so long as we stay out of sight of them we should be fine. Now, for starters, there's one right there on the side of the roof overlooking the parking lot. There's another in the front entrance, and two more near the back. We take those out we'll be in the clear."

Rory asked, "What about if somebody sees us and can identify us? They'll finger us in a line up!" John patted Rory on the back. "Just don't worry about it, brother. Most of the time when the cops shake us down they never have anything more than circumstantial evidence at best and most times they'll try and say your friends flipped on you because really they have no case at all and it's a desperation tactic to get a confession. Besides, we know the owner of that club. If he or any of his patrons testify, they'll have about ten brothers knocking on their doors."

Rory still wasn't quite sure. He was willing to kill whoever he had to but he wanted to be smart about it. He'd already been to prison in another country and was not looking to do the same here. "Suppose the owner doesn't know who rats us out? What then?"

John assured him, "I promise you, man, the owner knows what's good for him. He also will name drop any client that he thinks is the rat. Come on, lad! You're over thinking this. Let's go kill us some feckin gapers!" He readied his pistol and Thorn took aim at the camera overlooking the parking lot. He closed one eye and fired three times. The first two missed but got it on the third. Pedestrians heard he shots and began running. The bouncer standing out front saw the trouble and went for his own gun. _What the fuck? Are door men supposed to be packing in this city? _

The man was a larger white male standing at about six foot five looking to be possibly of Scottish American stock. John wasted no time shooting him, hitting the guard with three rounds to his football player sized chest. The man went down and he fired another into his leg hitting him about halfway between his femur and his crotch. He howled in pain and John put one in his head. They forced their way into the door. Inside the club, a member of the Raiders MC stood up, a heavy set Mexican American who was short but stocky in size. "Who's doing all that shooting?" He spotted Rory, Thorn and John coming in. Rory saw him go for his Desert Eagle but he nailed him before he could, shooting the hand that he was going to reach for it with.

The man shrieked as he hit him with a round in the left wrist. He fired another hitting the man in the head, decorating his brains against one of the stripper poles. A Raider gang member wearing a San Andreas rocker saw the commotion and got up from the bar, this one, a white male with black hair that was almost bald due to the close cut crew cut hairstyle as well as narrow and beady blue eyes. He also had a black goatee. "It's the fucking dead beats! Get out here, guys!"

He discharged his own pistol and Rory and John took cover behind a few chairs as patrons screamed and scrambled for the exit. One of the man's bullets hit a woman in the back of the leg and a man in the back. Thorn fired back, moving sideways until he could get to cover while covering himself with his shots. The bartender had a shotgun, which almost seemed cliche of your average western film when a shootout would happen in a saloon. "I hear you Gapers like it up the ass. No wonder you're trying to make a move in our city!" He shouted.

More Raiders emerged brandishing pistols as they ran out, angered that their lap dances had been interrupted. "Fucking dead beat pricks!" Yelled a man with blonde hair and a graying blonde beard and mustache. "You think you can get to us by cutting in our time at a titty bar? Well the jokes on you! I love making ghosts outta Angels as much as I love busting nuts!"

John fired blindly from cover letting off the rest of his rounds at the guy. He hit him with three in the waist, one bullet going through him straight to his kidney. The man cried out falling holding his wounds as the gun discharged as he hit the ground. He was wounded and if he survived would likely be pissing blood for a while but he was still in the fight. With one bloody hand he grabbed his gun again and aimed back hoping to take out John while he was reloading.

Thorn fired at the next camera and took it out. Rory aimed for the guy who was trying to kill John. He fired three shots, trying to be conservative with ammunition. He hit him with two shots in the left leg while the third ht him in the left ear. His ear was blown off and blood and brains splattered on the mess of his hair as the bullet went through. The initial member of the Raiders Rory had seen, grabbed a young man who was cowering on the floor. He looked to be about nineteen or so and was a nerdy looking Caucasian with sand colored hair, glasses, a white Micro Hard shirt on and cargo shorts. he held his gun as he fired at Rory and John saying, "Sorry, kid! Better you than me!"

Just then, three more Angels burst through the entrance, one armed with a Micro Uzi, one with a Magnum, and one with two Beretta's. Thorn fired two shots after reloading at the guy with the human hostage. A round hit the poor kid in the arm. Rory shouted to Thorn, "For fucks sake, man! He's just a kid! Watch your aiming!"

Thorn yelled back, "Why? He aint an Angel so who should I give a fuck about his life?" John also yelled, "Now just a fucking minute, god damn it, he aint an Angel either and you sure as fuck better tread carefully with my brother! Now you either fire carefully or not at all!" Rory fired a shot at the kid's leg causing him to fall. As this happened, he wasted no time in emptying the magazine into the guy. The Raider fell back , his body riddled with several bullets.

More strippers came running out and one of them took a stray bullet in the shoulder as they tried to get to the front door. "Jesus, Christ. Can these fucking Gapers shoot at all? They keep hitting innocent civilians!" Yelled John. The strippers who had not been hit took cover where they could, under tables, on the floor anywhere. The Angels who had just come through began firing, and the guy with the Uzi sent a flurry of automatic rounds, hitting two Raiders, one, taking rounds in the abdomen up to his neck and face, and had his nose blown off.

The other took rounds in the right arm, the side and then the back and the rounds stained the Raiders patch on the back with blood. The man collapsed in a heap on the floor. The Angel with the Magnum fired at the bartender who was shooting at them. He shot the guy with one in the stomach and some of the fat protruded from the barkeep's wound and the guy fell against the shelf fool of alcohol bottles which shattered as many collapsed on him.

He was then hit with seven rounds from a Raider gang member, an Asian American with a sword fish haircut. He screamed, "Angels Of Death? More like Angels Are dead! Fuck the AOD!" He was hit by several rounds from the Angel with two guns. The man, a white male in his early thirties, with a auburn colored beard and gray eyes shouted, "You kill one of our brothers we kill five of yours!"

Thorn took out the last of the cameras.

Rory began to advance past the the gun fight moving from cover to cover trying to avoid getting shot. John shouted to Rory, "Go check the champagne room! There's a good chance he was back there getting the full package from one of these lassies!" He headed through a doorway and a security guard, this time, an African American who was short but stocky drew a bead on him. He fired a shot at Rory which hit him in the side as he tried to back out to cover. Rory hissed in pain. "Shit!" He reloaded. "You assholes aint getting away with this! This aint the hood!" Shouted the bodyguard.

Rory fired two shots from cover around the side yelling, "I will kill you, son of a bitch! You sealed your own fate when you shot at me!" The man yelled back, "Fuck off, you low life gang banging piece of shit! The police are on their way! You aint getting out of here without either a bullet or wrist warmers!"

Rory fired four more and he heard that heard hit the guy with at least one round. He came out and fired another into his torso seeing he had already hit the guy in the right chin bone. The man stumbled back and Rory said, "I'm not a gangster. I'm a free agent!"

He pressed the barrel to his Adams apple and pulled the trigger decorating his brains against the velvet colored wall. The man fell back his brain matter and blood sliding down the wall as he slid down too, dead before he hit the ground, his eyes halfway open, his mouth looking like he'd just tasted something disgusting before death.

_Probably the gun powder. _Rory thought dryly. Rory then searched a few rooms looking for the guy he was meat to kill. Just then, a fully nude woman, a luscious blonde lady with blue eyes, big tits and an even bigger ass ran from past him screaming. "Alexis! Damn it get back here! We weren't done!" Out stumbled Nelson the same Raider who attacked him before. Rory almost shot hm but he saw that he was still nude. He advanced toward him and shoved Rory back and he fell dropping his gun. Rory rolled away trying to avoid the nude man's swinging johnson.

He picked up his gun off the ground and before he could fire the man had disappeared. He appeared again holding a baseball bat this time his pants on. _Damn that was quick. _He hit Rory in the back with it and tried to hit him in the head as well. "Fucking Dead Beat! I remember you! I had to get stitches in my head because of you."

He hit him in the side and then in the left leg. Rory cried out in pain and he looked to see John. "Oh well if it isn't your piece of shit brother!" Nelson it Rory one more time in the side and then gave him a kick and snarled, "Once I finish with him you're next, pal."

Nelson yelled to a Raider who was taking cover near the stage where the girls would perform yelled, "Guerra! I need a piece, dude! Come on!" The Central American biker tossed Nelson a .25 which he then readied and aimed at John. Rory yelled, "John, look out!" Luckily,the Irish biker moved in time and the shot whizzed by his face but did ricochet off a stripper pole and grazed him in the left arm. Still, John used this opportunity to get to cover. So did Rory. He ran to behind the bar even as the guy named Guerra fired at him.

Rory cried out in pain as a bullet struck him in the back of the right shoulder. He got to cover behind the bar and seized the shotgun the dead bartender had. He checked the 12 gauge. The man had fired off two shots and there were three left. There were also two more guards in the club who were assisting the Raiders since the Angels were the attacking gang. The Angel with the two pistols took several rounds in the back and side due to one of the guards, a large Russian American with a bald head.

That biker crawled wounded on the floor not quite dead yet but not far from it either. Rory came up from the bar and fired, hitting the Raider nearest to him in the side, the arm, the rib cage, the chest and the back with one blast the pellets hitting him all right arm looked like raw hamburger meat the way the blast had shredded it.

The poor fucker even took two pellets in the face, which peeled back most of the skin off his right cheek. Guerra screamed at the burning pain, his face bleeding worse than probably every other wound on his body combined. Thorn was nearby in cover but had a shot.

He aimed his own pistol at the rival biker and pulled the trigger putting one in his heart and he silenced Guerra's cries. Rory wondered if he had done it to just kill an enemy or to put the poor bastard out of his misery. Maybe both? He came out from the bar and joined the others in the fight. The Angel that had been wounded badly, crawled a few more feet and then collapsed and did not get up again.

The Angel with the Uzi had taken a couple rounds from the guards but had otherwise managed to get killed. Rory pumped the shotgun preparing to fire again. Nelson was heading to the exit with another Raider. This guy was African American, or at least half as he had blue eyes implying he was mixed. He had a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm including one that said _R.F.F.R. _

Though he was new to town, Rory knew a bit about bikers. It was likely the tattoo meant Raiders Forever Forever Raiders. Thorn and John finished off the last guard, each plugging him with five rounds Thorn fished a pair of keys off the dead Angel who had been shot last, and John took a pair off of the guy who'd had the Magnum. "The fucker's trying to get away, brother! We need to get him!" They ran out of the front and John put he keys into a Zombie. Thorn did the same and John yelled, "Rory, get on, broham! We need to catch this cunt hair and put one in his noggin!"

Rory said, "To hell with that, John, I'm riving. You shoot. He was after you!" Rory started it and John sat on back and said, "Fine but just this once, Rory! Next time ye either get your own bike or fuck off. I don't ride bitch ever again, got it?" Rory took off and John took his shotgun, as he chased after the fleeing Raiders. They began to drive up the street heading up a hill. The two Raiders spotted them and the man that Nelson had riding bitch fired back at them, letting off a .380 at them.

Rory zig zagged the bike trying to avoid the gunshots as the guy was firing backwards while Nelson was trying to get away. Rory got along the side of a bus going the opposite direction and they were temporarily cut off but Rory peered through the windows still seeing where they were. "All right, J bird! Now's your chance!" He pulled up right behind the two bikers and John fired the 12 gauge. He hit the Raider in the back, the pellets blasting through his spine, his shoulder blades and the back of the head.

The bike crashed on the freeway and Nelson, the shirtless biker crawled off wounded, his head cracked open from the crash, his leg pinned by the bike, and he had several pellets in his shoulder. Nelson growled, "Fuck you both! I'd never beg a dead be..." John fired the shotgun into his chest blowing his chest cavity wide open, the buckshot crushing his lungs and breaking his rib cage. Blood came from his mouth as he coughed it up and struggled to breath. Rory put a round in his head from the pistol for good measure. With that, he kicked the kick stand back and they were off again.

The cops were behind them soon after and they heard sirens. At least four police cars were on them and Rory knew more would soon be there. _"This is the San Fierro Police! Pull over throw down your weapon, turn your vehicle off and get on the ground! We are authorized to use lethal force so this is your only chance!"_

Rory cursed under his breath and yelled, "So much for your fucking parole officer, eh ass wipe? What's he going to say now? Known biker gang member guns down rivals at a strip club assisted by his brother in arms, another IRA fugie who aint even supposed to be here?"

John yelled, "Shut up, man! Don't think negative or we will go to prison! Let's just shake these cops for now, man!"

Thorn called to them, "You two, go on back! I'll give these assholes a bird to chase," John yelled, "Bene! But how? There's two of us and one of you!" Thorn grinned in the dark of night and held his pistol up saying, "With them focused on me they'll forget you guys!"

He then fired over his shoulder at the cop cars. They did in fact go after him harder. They started to fire after him but he sped up to put more distance between the before turning around and firing five more shots at the police. Rory took the opportunity to go up a grassy hill. Two cops followed him as he sped up the street. He easily got up the hill despite it being a bit slippery from rain.

Rory then sped up even more as he rode through a neighborhood all though he wasn't sure which one. He suspected it might have been Juniper Hill. He passed a Burger Shot really fast. He took a sharp turn east even as the two cop cars followed. He spotted a staircase facing the way ahead of him. John yelled, "No you fucking maniac! Don't ya do it!" Rory shouted, "Either the jump kills us or they do! I aint going back to jail, man! If i die it will be a free man!"

He sped up the steps and the jump sent him soaring up at least thirty possibly even forty feet. One squad car hit the breaks stopping short about fifty yards while the other foolishly tried to follow. This car crashed to the ground and rolled about five times. Both police officers inside were killed.

They almost hit the trolley as they flew through the air but luckily an ambulance landed in front of them. The bike rolled off the roof as the San Fierro trolley passed by. He hit the street and they sped up uncontrollably. Rory hit the breaks and the bike slid, and crashed. The two men rolled off of it in pain landing in the street. John's knee was scraped and he had a cut on his arm but was otherwise okay.

Rory on the other hand felt like shit. "Come on, brother. Let's move! The might have more on the way!" One woman asked them, "Are you all right?" John smiled saying, "Thanks love we're just peachy. We're gonna cab it from here though. Much safer! Never ride a bike, miss. Too dangerous!"

She nodded and was going to say something but somebody yelled, "Look that cop car crashed!" Pedestrians ran over and a few teens walking out on a late night some were friends, others high school students on dates whipped out cell phones to take pictures of the crash.

John shouted, "Rory you feckin psycho! I love ya, man! You're a good lad!" Rory had taken at least one shot, seemingly more than that, and he'd been hit with a bat by a naked man while avoiding his wang and he'd crashed all in one night. He just wanted to get home. In the distance, gunshots and sirens rang out as San Fierro police patrols attempted to subdue Thorn. The red haired biker simply laughed, flipped them the bird and yelled, "I'm fucking innocent! You won't catch me so you can suck me!" He shouted.

As Rory and John found a bus stop and waited to see if either a bus or a cab would come along, John hiding the shotgun in his jacket, Rory thought to himself, _Aye, what a hell of a way to end the night...but a least I aint dead or behind bars._

* * *

_So that's all for this chapter people! First off, I should start by saying Cerveza Barracho is based on Coronas. Angel is visually inspired by Chicano rapper and fellow Sureno Lil Rob . Guero, is based on Clifton Collin Jr. who was Cesar in both GTA San Andreas and starred in the movie 187 only the roles reversed cause in that Samuel L was the "Good guy" and Cesar was the villain. Palomita is visually based on Sadie Lopez who was Dreamer in Training Day (Also in Cross Fire) and was Mousey in Mi Vida Loca (Team mousie!)  
_

_Um let's see Moreno is based on Jesse Borego who played El Duran Duran in Mi Vida Loca and Cruz in Blood In Blood Out and Carla, Moreno's sister is based on Constance Marie, the wife on the George Lopez show and the mom in the Selena movie. _

_Panama Red is also visually based on that maroon guy Popeye from Blood In Blood Out. _

_As for Nilla's storyline, as I said Rick is based on Channing Tatum, an obvious wigger, Chase was based on Mike Epps and that line with him and the two girls he hit on that was a skit from an Ice Cube album I don't remember which one I'm no longer a fan. As for the stuff she was thinking on Africans vs African Americans that's not my own thought it's just he perspective I've noticed cause in Seattle and really all over America supposedly there is tension but many say in Seattle Africans vs African Americans is their version of L.A.'s black on brown pedo. _

_Something both Africans and US born blacks have said I've listened to both sides. I'm sure LA has it in their communities too but I don't focus on that and I'm sure there all the blacks or at least as far as all ethnic groups not gangs gotta stick together against us. _

_And then, with Rory's storyline, so basically Thorn is based n visually and personality wise, Axle Rose the lead singer of Guns N Roses. I changed the name of the Khans to the Raiders. The blonde that Nelson was fucking is a reference to Alexis Texas the blonde porn star, Foga was based off this guy like that i didn't like who really was that way personality wise. _

_And...that's all I can really think of for now. Oh and in case you wondered John is based on Daniel Day Lewis. Most of Mohammad's funny dialogue is based off the trolling site known as celeb jihad dot com. A lot of his dialogue will be based off my favorite trolll Abdullah The Shiek Of Tikrit. If you guys want a laugh check out that site which claims to be "The only celebrity gossip sight run by Islamic extremists" _

_Oh and Nero is based off the Sons OIf Anarchy character of the same name he will be in there later. And as for the gangs the J Edgar gang is based on the 74 Hoovers, Vagos on 18th street and the Las Flores Aztecas (Not the same as the Los Flores in SA an incorrect spelling of it which was more based on Boyle Heights) are based on Florencia 13. The Flausons is a word play on Slauson and Flossing and the Slausons were the gang that was the original name of the Rolling 60's crips. _

_I did pretty much also sum up the history of the black gangs in L.A. as well as La Eme (Onda in this) _

_And Skenne'n's sentiments about the terms like "Hispanic" and Latino being bullshit inaccurate terms are my own. That's like calling African Americans white Brits because they speak English. It's the same thing. _

_And as for the thoughts he was having on the rap music was my own way of getting off my chest my dissatisfaction with how badly the soundtrack in GTA V is going to be pure shit. They didn't have any LA rappers in a LC game or non LA based game so why the hell should non LA rappers like Chief Keef get airplay? He sucks! _

_So does all of the west coast now seems everybody went lame stream. I'm never going to approve of these watered down beats and corny lyricism that people call rap nowadays. If I can't imagine blasting it, I sure won't be downloading it. _

_Lastly Nilla did not give a fuck about assaulting a made man because let's face it does that really even mean anything outside of non Italian circles? I thought it was stupid how Luis in TBOGT didn't shoot Rocco cause he was made. I was thinking, you're Dominican why do you care?! _

_Get your homies Armando and Henrique to back you all the Dominicans from North wood if possible. JS...non Italians who are criminals should be like so you're made what is that to me? You're already trying to kill me so why should i care if you put a hit out on me? TheCosa Nostar is pretty much gone these days anyway. _

_Orale so that's all i gotta say for maybe long but hope whoever enjoys it. _


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